Sabine didn’t respond with words but she didn’t move away either and for the first time in years, they both began to breathe again.
“This,” Pie said, “is what healing looks like. Not pretty. Not easy. But real…honest. You don’t have to finish anything today. You don’t even have to decide where this goes but you did something brave. Both of you.”
Sabine wiped her face, her voice hoarse. Her breath hitched again, but the sobs were slowing no, less like a storm, more like a passing rain and for the first time in years, she didn’t feel like she was crying alone.
Adair was still holding her. Solid. Grounded. His chest against her cheek, his arms around her back, not letting go. He didn’t flinch when she hit him, didn’t pull away when her rage poured out. He took it. All of it. Just…took it.
She felt the weight of his hands and maybe for the first time since Ariyah died, Sabine feltheld.Not in the vague, useless way people use when they say, “holding space.” No. This was physical. Tangible. A body pressed to hers, a heartbeat in her ear. Warmth. Strength. He was carrying it now. The grief. The guilt. The thing that had crushed her alone for too long.
She blinked through the blur of leftover tears, through the blur of grief still clinging to her lashes and felt something inside her shift.
Not forgive.
Not forget.
Butloosen.
Something hadloosened.
It was in the way his breathing matched hers, the way his hands stayed right where she needed them. The way he whispered, “I know,” not to defend himself, but to sayI hear you nowand he did. She could feel it in the way he held her tighter when she said Ariyah’s name. In the way his voice cracked whenhe said he would’ve given his own life to have their baby girlback.
It wasn’t enough to undo it. However, it was something. It washim…present, finally. Not with a check or a solution but with his whole body. His whole self, the man she’d begged to show up years ago and Sabine felt just a little bit lighter as if the grief wasn’t hers to carry alone anymore. As if maybe he finally understood the ruin he'd left her to rot in.
“Now…we breathe,” Pie reassured, letting this moment end the session. “And next week? We begin again.”
Adair looked down at Sabine and for the first time in a very long time?—
She didn’t look away.
ADAIR
The air outside was heavier than when they went in—thicker with humidity, or maybe just with everything they’d spilled inside that room.
Adair stood on the sidewalk just beyond the glass doors of Pumila Psychiatry, watching his breath fog slightly in the cool night air. The parking lot was mostly empty now. The sun had dropped while they were inside, leaving the world dim and bluish.
Sabine stood beside him, arms folded, eyes on the ground. She hadn’t spoken since they left the office. Just walked out quietly, clutching her bag like if she let go, she’d float off into whatever grief hadn’t finished with her yet. Adair didn’t say anything at first. Didn’t want to break whatever silence was keeping her upright but then, he reached for her.
No words. No permission. Just contact.
His arms folded around her gently, instinctively, and God, she was still so small in his hold. Still so warm. He felt her stiffen first—muscle memory telling her not to give in but she didn’t pull away.
Sabine stayed.
She stayed, and he held her tighter. She hated it. He knew she did. Hated that his arms were the only ones she’d ever felt safest in. Even now. Even after everything.
He kissed her forehead—soft, deliberate—and let it linger.
She still didn’t move.
He pulled back just enough to look at her. “Can I take you to dinner?”
Her eyes flickered up to meet his. Tired. Glossy. Wary.
“Adair…”
“No funny shit,” he said quickly, hands still lightly resting on her waist. “Just let me feed you, baby.”
The endearment slipped out like muscle memory too, and this time she didn’t waver at it. She looked at him for a long beat—like she was weighing what would happen if she said yes. Like she didn’t trust the comfort she still felt around him. Like she hated herself for wanting it, too.