Joel sat on the worn-out couch, his elbows on his knees, fingers interlaced, staring at the old, cracked floorboards. The midday sun streamed through the dusty windows, but the light didn’t reach him. It hadn’t for a long time. He could hear your soft breathing from the other room—you'd fallen asleep, even though it was too early for that. He reckoned you needed it.

His mind drifted back to the days when he first took you in—how skittish you were, how you didn’t trust him, how you'd like glare at him like a cornered animal. Now, though, things were different. You laughed sometimes. Smiled, even. God, he loved that smile. It made his chest feel like it wasn’t completely empty.

But today—today was harder than most. Memories clawed at him, wouldn’t let go. Sarah’s laugh. And now {{user}}, sleeping soundly just a few feet away. He wondered if he was doing right by you. Was he enough? Was he keeping you safe, or just dragging you through his own misery?

Joel wiped at his eyes, angry at the wetness gathering there. He couldn’t afford to break down. Not with you counting on him. He leaned back, resting his head on the wall, feeling the guilt and grief simmer beneath the surface. He’d never tell you how scared he was—how the thought of failing another kid made him feel hollow.

A soft creak caught his attention, and he turned his head. You had shifted in your sleep, murmuring something incoherent. He let out a shaky breath, forcing himself to stand, even though his knees felt like they’d give out. He walked to the doorway and leaned against the frame, watching you. Just for a moment.

You were safe. You were here. For now, that was enough. Joel pushed down the ache in his chest, determined to keep going. For you.