But standing here, I realize that Brianna has been keeping her wishes secret, folding them away so she doesn’t “betray” me. Protectingmewhen it should have been the other way around.
Hearing Mya wrap herself around my daughter’s fear like it belongs to her too breaks me open in the best way. It shows me exactly where I’ve failed without ever making me feel accused.
I’ve been so focused on shielding Brianna from pain that I didn’t notice she was learning to shrink herself for my comfort.
I just want to walk in, thank Mya, kiss her temple, and tell Bri she doesn’t owe me her loyalty. But this is their moment, not mine, and I won’t steal it by making it about me.
I back away on quiet feet, pulse loud in my ears, and head for the bedroom. Once inside, I sit on the edge of the bed and stare at my hands, knuckles nicked from the woodwork I did for Brianna’s birthday gift.
I toe off my socks, stand, and start unbuttoning my shirt.
The bedroom door cracks open a few moments later and Mya steps in. She stops dead when she sees me halfway out of my shirt. Her eyes flick to my chest, then to the floor.
“Sorry,” she says quickly, already backing out. “I didn’t know you were here. I’ll come back later.”
“Mya.” My voice comes out tighter than I mean it, and she freezes, hand on the knob. “Come back in here and close the door.”
She hesitates for a fraction, then eases the door shut and turns around, chin up.
I hook my shirt off my shoulder and toss it onto the chair. I take a breath, reining in the parts of me that want to cross the space and pull her to me. “I heard some of your conversation with Bri.”
Color touches her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to overstep. She just needed to talk.”
“I know.” I take a step closer and stop. “And you said exactly what she needed to hear.”
Her shoulders drop a notch. “She’s scared of hurting you.”
“I know,” I repeat, quieter. “And I don’t want that for her. I never have.”
Silence stretches, full of the things I should have said earlier and didn’t.
“I wasn’t great today,” I admit. “With you.” I find the edge of the dresser, grip it. “I kept it cold. I’m sorry.”
Mya studies my face, guarded. “We’re fine. It’s been a long day.”
I shake my head. “I’m sorry for keeping you at arm’s length. It’s not how I want to treat you. I just—” I search for the cleanest version of the truth. “I don’t know how to be near you without wanting more than you’ve said you want.”
Her eyes soften. “Worth…”
“I’m not asking for anything,” I say, raising my palms. “I just want to thank you for being there for Bri. For saying the exact right thing and making this house feel like a place she can bring the hard parts to.”
Mya swallows, the barest nod. “She’s brave. She just needed permission to be honest.”
“I’m grateful for that, and I can see you care about her a lot.”
“Bri is easy to care about.”
“So are you.” It slips out before I can stop it. Her breath hitches, and I let the admission hang there, simple and true.
Mya swallows. “You don’t have to thank me for loving her.”
That cracks me open all over again. I look away for a moment, then back.
I take another slow step toward her. “May I?”
She doesn’t askwhat. After a beat, she nods.
I lift a hand to her cheek, my thumb finding the faint damp track of a tear. Her skin is warm.