Sofia's POV
The pain was a hot, searing wire that shot up my leg. But it was nothing compared to the burn of pure, unadulterated embarrassment. The sound of my fall—that sickening crack—was a betrayal. It was the sound of my clumsiness, the very thing Eric feared, come to life. Refugia's cry, startled and thin, was the final punctuation mark on my failure.
"Sofia? Are you okay?"
Eric's voice was tight with worry. I couldn't look at him. I just lay there on the cold stone, my twisted ankle throbbing, a tear of shame rolling into my hair. "I'm fine," I mumbled, the lie tasting like ash in my mouth.
He knelt beside me, his concern a palpable weight. "You're not fine. We need to get you up." He reached out, his hand hovering over my arm.
"No!" I snapped, the word harsher than I intended. I tried to push myself up on my elbows. "I can do it. Just... just give me a second."
He withdrew his hand, his expression a mixture of worry and frustration. "Sofia, don't be ridiculous."
My ankle screamed in protest as I tried to put weight on it. My breath hitched. It was impossible. The ground, which had been so receptive to my silent steps just a moment ago, was now an unforgiving enemy. I pushed, gritted my teeth, and inevitably, my leg gave out from under me. I fell back against the stone, a whimper escaping my lips.
Refugia's crying intensified, and I felt a fresh wave of tears well up in my eyes. I was a failure. A loud, clumsy, and now injured liability.
Eric's patience had reached its limit. "That's enough," he said, his voice firm. He moved closer, sliding one arm under my back and the other under my knees.
"Don't!" I tried to protest, but it was too late. He lifted me with a startling ease, my body a feather in his arms. The contact, the feeling of his strength holding me, was too much. The carefully constructed walls I had built around my heart felt like they were crumbling. I bit my lip, forcing back the words that were desperate to spill out. I wanted to tell him. I wanted to scream that I hadn't been acting strong to keep us safe, but to hide the fact that I was falling for him. That every silent step, every shared glance, was an act of a desperate heart trying to prove it was worthy of his.
He carried me to the blankets, his movements slow and deliberate. He set me down gently, and I pulled the blanket up to my chin, as if it could hide my shame and my racing heart.
"Stay there," he commanded softly, before turning to a small pouch in the corner of the cave. He rummaged through it, retrieving a small clay pot.
"What's that?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
"Ointment," he replied, kneeling beside my feet. "For the swelling." He reached for my injured ankle, but I yanked it away.
"I can do it," I insisted, my voice wobbly. "Just give it to me."
He held the pot out of my reach. "Sofia, this is a two-person job. You need to keep it elevated. I'll be faster. And you'll be less likely to make it worse."
"I don't need your help," I said, my voice cracking. "I've been taking care of myself for years."
"I know," he said, and his gaze was steady and unwavering. "But right now, you need me. And that's okay."
His words, spoken with such quiet conviction, broke something inside me. The tears I had been holding back finally spilled over, hot and stinging on my cheeks. I stopped fighting him. He carefully took my ankle in his hands, his touch surprisingly gentle as he applied the cool, soothing ointment. The pain in my ankle was still there, but it was nothing compared to the ache in my chest. I wanted to tell him everything, to confess the truth of my feelings, but the words were trapped behind a wall of tears and fear. The only sounds in the cave were the soft cry of my baby and the quiet, rhythmic breathing of the man who had become my entire world.
"Sofia?" His voice was a soft rumble, and I could feel his gaze on my face. "Does it hurt that badly? I'll be more gentle, I promise."
I shook my head, unable to speak. The lump in my throat was too large, too solid to allow a single word through. It wasn't the ankle. It was all of it. The lie of my strength. The crumbling of my walls. The fear of what he'd think if he knew the truth of my tears.
"I... I can't," I choked out, a fresh wave of tears blurring my vision. "Refugia."
He paused, his hands still on my ankle. "What about her?"
"She's crying," I whispered, turning my face toward the small, muffled sounds from the blanket pile. "She's... scared. Can you get her? I think she needs you."
He looked from my tear-streaked face to the baby and back again. The corner of his mouth twitched, a hint of the frustration I knew he was feeling. He wanted to finish with my ankle, to make sure I was okay, but I had given him a new order, a new purpose. A new distraction.
"Sofia, I just need a minute to finish this—"
"Please," I interrupted, the word a desperate plea. "Please, Eric. I can do it. Just... just go to her."
He sighed, a long, quiet release of breath, and finally let go of my ankle. "Fine," he said, his voice still firm, but laced with a new softness. "But you're not touching this until I'm back. Do you understand?"
I nodded, my tears slowing as he moved away. I watched him go to the baby, his movements precise and purposeful as always. He knelt by her, his large hands cradling her small body, his low voice murmuring soothing words I couldn't quite hear. A fragile sense of peace settled over me, watching them.
But even as he held her, his attention wasn't entirely on the baby. I saw it in the quick, almost imperceptible glances he shot toward my feet, toward the half-finished job. I saw it in the subtle tension in his shoulders, the way he held Refugia but still seemed poised to spring back to my side. He wasn't just worried about her; he was still worried about me.
He finally stood up, Refugia now quiet in his arms, her head nestled against his chest. He came back to the blankets, his eyes finding mine. "She's just a little scared. She's fine now. Are you... are you in too much pain?" he asked, his voice softer than I had ever heard it.
My heart ached. No. The pain was nothing. The truth was everything. And the truth was, I had never needed him more. I just didn't have the words to say it. "I'm okay now," I lied, and this time, the lie felt like a small, sad victory. I was still hiding, still protecting myself, even from the man I was falling for.