Mike sat on my couch and put his head in his hands. “This is what I hate,” he muttered. “Even when we’re careful, it can still happen.”
“Yes,” I said quietly. “That’s the reality.”
Mom sat beside me, hands clasped tightly. “Do you want us to stop having family dinners?” she asked, panicked. “Do you want—”
“No,” I said gently. “I want you to keep living with me. Not around me. With me.”
Kate nodded hard, tears falling. “We will.”
That night, after they left, Sam and I sat in silence for a while. My body felt drained, like I’d run a marathon inside my bloodstream.
Sam finally spoke. “Do you feel like you’re back at the beginning?”
I thought about it. About the old fear. The old doubt.
“No,” I said. “I feel like I proved something to myself.”
“What?” he asked.
“That I don’t freeze anymore,” I said. “I don’t wait for permission to take myself seriously.”
Sam’s eyes softened. “That’s huge.”
I nodded, tired but steady. “And it means no one gets to mock me ever again,” I added. “Not my family. Not a stranger. Not even that voice in my head.”