Cole:
The apartment was quiet.
Soft, heavy silence hung in the air like mist after a storm. The only sound was her breathing—slow, rhythmic, fragile—as she lay curled against me, her head resting on my chest, her hands tucked beneath her chin.
Juliette had cried for hours. Not loudly. Not even violently. Just quiet, shattering sobs that came in waves—starting and stopping with no warning. And I’d held her through all of it.
Now, she was asleep.
Wearing a pair of my shorts and one of my hoodies, sleeves hanging past her hands, damp strands of hair sticking to her cheeks. Her face was red and blotchy. Her body still trembled slightly, even in rest.
I sat as still as I could, one arm wrapped around her, the other stroking slow, gentle lines through her hair. I didn’t dare move. I didn’t
