Page 44 of Angel
I let out a slow breath through my nose. “Protectin’ her. Givin’ her everything she wants. Fixing things before they hurt her.”
“That’s a lot of responsibility.”
“It’s my job.”
“Is it?”
I finally look at her.
“In my world? Yeah.”
She studies me carefully. “Is Stevie part of your world or her own person inside it?”
The question lands strange.
“She’s my wife,” I say automatically.
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
I shift in the seat. “She’s her own person.”
“And does protecting her mean preventing her from feeling pain?”
“No,” I say, then hesitate. “But I wanted to.”
She nods slowly. “And when you couldn’t?”
My jaw tightens. “I shut down. Or I said the wrong thing. Or I tried to make it smaller so it wouldn’t break us.”
She leans forward slightly. “Did it work?”
“No.” The word’s quieter this time. “It just made her feel alone.”
The truth sits between us, ugly and honest. I drag a hand over my face.
“I kept thinkin’ if I just stayed steady enough, she’d feel safe. Like if I didn’t crack, she wouldn’t either.”
“And how did that feel?” she asks.
“Like I was watchin’ her drown from the shore,” I admit. “And tellin’ myself I was helpin’ by not jumpin’ in.”
There’s silence. It’s not heavy or accusing. Just space for the words to settle.
“Sometimes strength looks like stepping into the water,” Carina says gently.
I stare at my hands. My knuckles scarred. Nails bitten short. Skin rough from years of holding onto handlebars and weapons, and whatever else needed grip. I don’t know how to step into water without tryin’ to fight it.
“I didn’t let myself grieve,” I say after a minute.
“Why not?”
“Because it wasn’t my body.” The words come fast now.
“The losses happened to her. She was the one in pain. She was the one bleeding. I didn’t feel like I had a right to it.”
Carina tilts her head. “And yet you were attached.”
Yeah. That’s the part I’ve been avoidin’.
