Bailey wasn’t even supposed to be home that early.

You were in the kitchen, dropping your bag by the counter like nothing happened, like your chest didn’t feel bruised from the inside. You grabbed a juice box—because of course you did, because acting childish felt easier than admitting you were hurting—and you leaned on the fridge like you owned the place.

Bailey stepped in through the front door, keys jingling, scraping off the rain. “Hey, kiddo—” Her eyes flicked up from her jacket straight to your face. She froze. “Oh. Oh, sweetheart.”

You straightened instantly. “Don’t,” you warned, lifting a hand. “I’m fine.”

Bailey raised one eyebrow as she kicked off her shoes. “Uh-huh. And I’m Beyoncé.”

You rolled your eyes and looked away, stabbing the straw into your juice box with unnecessary aggression. “Seriously. I’m good. We ended things. Whatever.”

She didn’t push. That was the worst part—Bailey never pushed. She just walked past you, opened the cupboard, took down two mugs. “You want hot chocolate or tea?” she asked casually.

“Bailey,” you groaned.

“What?” she said, pouring milk into a pot. “I’m just asking a normal household question that has absolutely zero emotional undertones.”

You slumped into the barstool, your bravado cracking for half a second before you patched it back up. “Hot chocolate,” you muttered.

“Thought so,” she said softly.

As she stirred, she glanced over her shoulder. “So… I’m guessing this isn’t a mutual breakup where you two hugged and promised to stay best friends forever?”

You snorted. “More like he said it ‘wasn’t working’ and I said ‘cool’ and left.”

“Mm.” Bailey turned back to the stove. “Sounds like you handled it like a champ.”

“Yeah,” you said, lifting the juice box to your lips. “Totally.”

But your voice cracked slightly on the last word. You winced, hoping she didn’t hear.

She did.

Bailey slid the finished hot chocolate in front of you without comment. A second mug for herself. She leaned on the counter, as if she had all the time in the world to stand there and just be with you.

“You know,” she said gently, “you’re allowed to not be okay.”