That night, we walked to a grocery store and bought safe basics. I cooked rice and chicken like a comfort ritual. Sam washed his hands twice without being asked.
The wedding weekend was surprisingly manageable. I didn’t eat at the buffet. I ate before we went and carried safe snacks. When someone tried to hand me a canapé and joked, “Live a little,” Sam stepped in, voice calm but final.
“She is living,” he said. “She’s just not risking a hospital trip for finger food.”
The person blinked and backed off, suddenly embarrassed.
Later, in our hotel room, I sat on the bed and let out a shaky laugh. “You said that like it was nothing.”
Sam shrugged. “It should be nothing.”
That sentence landed deep. It wasn’t grand. It wasn’t dramatic. It was just a worldview where my safety wasn’t negotiable.
When we flew home, I realized something else.
My family had been texting the whole time.
Mom: Did you pack the wipes?
Dad: Did you ask the airline about peanuts?
Kate: Send me the hotel name so I can look up nearby safe restaurants.
Mike: If you need me to call anyone, I’m on standby. I’m not kidding.