Kieran
I knocked.
Once. Twice. Three times.
Nothing.
No footsteps. No rustle. No irritated voice telling me to go away. Just silence on the other side of her door. A heavy kind of silence. The kind that made something twist inside my gut.
I exhaled sharply through my nose, jaw twitching as I stood there. I had the tray in my hands, rice porridge, eggs, something mild and warm. It wasn't much. But it was enough. She needed something. She looked like death when she showed up earlier. Pale, miserable, grumpy as hell.
Cute. In a kicked-puppy kind of way.
I knocked again.
Still nothing.
I could've left. Told myself it wasn't my business. She was grown. Not my problem. But I didn't move.
So I tried the knob.
It wasn't locked.
When I pushed the door open, I didn't expect the mess that greeted me.
She was on the damn floor.
Sprawled out, wrapped in her blanket like a human burrito, one arm curled over her stomach. Her face was pinched in sleep, eyebrows drawn tight like she was still in pain even while knocked out. It made me pause, something prickling at the back of my neck.
Hell.
I stepped in carefully, quiet, like I was approaching a wounded animal. I set the tray down beside her, close enough for when she woke up, but not too close to scare her. Then I just… stood there for a second.
Watching her.
I didn't like how small she looked. Like she'd folded into herself completely. I didn't like that I hadn't noticed sooner how deep this went for her. I thought she was just moody, irritated, her usual bratty self. But this wasn't that.
This was exhaustion. Pain. Loneliness, maybe.
I didn't like how much that reminded me of myself.
With a tight breath, I stepped back out and closed the door quietly behind me.
I kept my hands busy cleaning up the kitchen. Organizing. Rechecking the locks. Telling myself it didn't matter. She'd eat if she wanted. She'd be fine. I'd check again in a bit. That was all.
And I did.
Maybe an hour later, I found myself back at her door. I cracked it open slower this time.
She was still on the floor. But now… she'd made herself more comfortable. A pillow under her head, one arm over her stomach, her legs tucked up loosely. She looked less like she'd collapsed, and more like she'd chosen to sleep there.
And beside her?
An empty tray.
The bowl was scraped clean.
Not a single grain of rice left.
I blinked, lips parting before I realized it.
She ate it.
She ate all of it.
For a second, I didn't know what to do with that information. I just stood there. Watching her chest rise and fall in slow, steady breaths.
She looked… softer now.
Less angry at the world.
And somehow, that pissed me off.
Not in a real way. Just in the way that meant I'd started giving a damn.
And that? That was dangerous.
I closed the door again.
And told myself I wasn't smiling.
I was pacing. Again.
Google was open on my phone for the fifth time that morning, the words "how to help someone on their period" still in the search bar. I had half a dozen tabs open. Ginger tea. Hot water bottles. Light soup. Comfort. Rest. Don't say anything stupid.
I tossed the phone onto the counter and clicked my tongue. Like I didn't already know that part.
I filled the kettle.
Found an old water bottle in the cupboard, one of those soft ones Mrs. Kim gave me when I got back with bandages last week. Filled it up, wrapped it in a clean towel so it wouldn't burn her skin. Brewed the tea—ginger, chamomile, honey. Nothing too bitter. Nothing too sweet.
Carried everything back to her door.
Knocked.
Nothing.
I let myself in.
She was still on the floor, wrapped up like she was fighting off the whole goddamn world. Her blanket was half off her now, one leg exposed and cold, her arm twitching as she clutched her stomach. Her forehead glistened with sweat, jaw tight, and she winced in her sleep like every breath hurt.
Fuck.
I crouched and set everything down beside her, careful, quiet, trying not to wake her.
Then she muttered something.
"Mom…?"
I froze.
Her eyes were barely open. Glazed. Half there. Half somewhere else entirely.
"Please don't go…" she whispered, breath hitching. "I'll be good. I promise I won't complain again…"
Her fingers curled around the front of my hoodie like I was the last goddamn thing holding her to this earth.
I didn't know what to do.
She was crying. Not loud. Not messy. Just quiet, broken little sobs like she didn't even realize she was doing it.
My heart did something ugly.
"I'm not your mom, sweetheart," I muttered under my breath, wiping the sweat from her forehead with my sleeve. "But I'm not going anywhere either."
She didn't answer. She just kept holding on.
I gently pried her hand off my chest, only to tuck it beneath the blanket and then carefully lifted her shirt just enough to place the hot water bottle over the softest part of her abdomen. She flinched even in sleep, but then her body eased, just slightly. A breath softer. A little looser.
I stayed there for a second. Watching her.
Then I did the stupidest thing I've done in years.
I laid down beside her.
Didn't say a word. Didn't touch her again.
Just listened to her breathing as her pain slowly settled into something quieter.