The apartment was quiet, the kind of quiet that felt suffocating. Amy stood by the stove, shoulders slightly hunched, staring at the kettle as if waiting for it to give her permission to breathe. Her hair was tied up messily, the kind of knot she made when she didn't want anything touching her face. Her eyes were swollen but steady. She moved slowly, carefully, as though one wrong motion would shatter her all over again.
The kettle clicked as it heated. Steam curled out the sides.
Jace had been awake for a while, sitting on the edge of the bed, replaying everything,the raised voices, the way her breath had broken into sobs, the way she crumbled against the floor like she was made of memories too heavy to carry.
He hated himself a little for pushing too hard.
He hated himself a lot for making her cry.
He walked quietly into the kitchen, barefoot, stopping behind her. For a moment he just looked at the way her fingers trembled a bit as she reached for the teabag, at how tense her shoulders were, at the way she stood like someone expecting a blow from the world.
He slipped his arms around her waist from behind, gently, like he was holding something very fragile.
Amy went still.
He pressed his forehead lightly to her shoulder.
"Amy…" His voice was rough, low. "Hey."
She closed her eyes.
For a long second she didn't move. Then she set the teaspoon down carefully, letting out a shaky breath.
"Jace…" Her voice was faint, like it had been left out in the cold all night. "…am I too damaged for you?"
His arms tightened instantly, protectively, almost fiercely.
"Amy, no. No." He turned her gently in his arms, cupping her face as though he could shield her from her own thoughts. "Don't ever say that."
Her eyes flickered up to his, raw, vulnerable. "But that's how I feel. Like I'm always… breaking. Or pushing. Or running. Like I'm made wrong."
"Baby…" He brushed his thumb under her eye, where faint tear tracks still lingered. "You're human. You're hurting. That doesn't make you damaged."
She shook her head. "I keep losing people. Or pushing them away before they can leave. And yesterday… the way I snapped, the way I...." Her voice cracked. "Maybe Mom didn't destroy me. Maybe I'm just… unlovable."
"Amy." His tone sharpened not with anger, but with urgency. "Look at me." She tried, but her gaze wavered.
He tilted her chin gently. "You are the most loving person I've ever met. You love books, and strangers,and the rain. You love everything so deeply you feel it in your bones."
She swallowed hard.
"You've been surviving on your own since you were seventeen," he continued, voice softening again. "You built yourself. Piece by piece. That doesn't make you damaged. That makes you strong."
Her breath hitched.
"But I yelled at you," she whispered. "I said horrible things."
"Thats because I pushed you to." He shook his head with guilt. "I shouldn't have. I just… want you to have peace. I want things that hurt you to stop hurting you. But I forgot something important."
"What?" she asked quietly.
"That it's your pain. Your story. Your pace. Not mine." He pulled her closer, resting his forehead against hers. "I'm here to hold you through it not drag you through it."
A tear slipped down her cheek. "I'm scared."
"I know." His voice softened. "I'm scared too."
She pressed her face to his chest, her fingers twisting into his shirt like she needed an anchor. "I don't want to talk to her, Jace. I'm not ready."
"Then you don't have to," he whispered into her hair. "Not today. Not tomorrow. Not until you choose to. I'm not here to force anything."
Amy's breath steadied, but her voice trembled. "What if I never want to talk to her again?"
He wrapped both arms around her tightly. "Then I'll still be here."
The kettle whistled loudly, filling the silence that followed.
Neither of them moved for a long moment.
Finally Amy pulled back slightly, wiping at her face with the heel of her palm. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "For yelling. For saying things that hurt you."
"I'm sorry for pushing. For not listening." He leaned down and kissed her forehead softly. "I love you. Even when we argue. Even when we hurt. Even when we're a mess."
Amy let out a trembling exhale. "I love you too."
He tucked a strand of hair back behind her ear. "Come sit. I'll finish the tea."
She shook her head softly. "No… I want to do it. It's okay." She turned back to the counter, slowly, purposefully. "Just… stay close?"
"Always." He moved behind her again, gently resting a hand on her back as she poured the hot water.
They sat together at the small kitchen table,two mugs, two tired hearts, one quiet morning trying to put itself back together.
Amy wrapped her hands around the warm cup. "Today… can we just be? No heavy talks. No mom. No past. Just… us?"
Jace reached across the table, threading his fingers through hers. "Just us," he promised.
And for the first time since the shouting, since the tears.....
Amy felt the smallest, softest piece of herself begin to stitch back together again.