Safe With You

The Faint Echo

~ Alyssa ~

It’s been just over a week since my fainting fiasco, and I finally feel human again.

Markus was right — rest and food worked miracles. Greyson’s been relentless, making sure I eat properly, dragging me away from my laptop when I start getting that look that means I’m about to overdo it.

At first, I fought him on it.

Now, I just let him win.

Mostly because he’s right.

And partly because there’s something deeply comforting about being cared for — something I hadn’t realised I’d missed.

Today, though, I feel like me again.

The creative itch is back, and my studio smells faintly of fabric glue and coffee — my personal holy trinity.

In the corner, two small mannequins stand proudly wearing the new creations I finished last night:

two matching dresses, soft powder blue chiffon with hand-stitched stars scattered across the skirts.

Quinn and Poppy had been begging for them for weeks, and I couldn’t resist surprising them.

I’m still tying a ribbon when I hear Greyson downstairs, voice warm and exasperated.

“Girls, if you keep spinning like that, you’re going to fall flat on your faces!”

The sound of laughter follows — two identical giggles that melt into one another.

When I walk down the stairs, I stop halfway, unable to move for a second.

Greyson’s in the foyer, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up. He’s got one girl on each of his feet, their small hands clutching his as he sways them slowly to the old jazz humming from his phone.

Quinn’s plait bounces with every spin, Poppy’s ponytail swinging wildly. Their dresses shimmer in the light — the exact image I’d imagined when I was stitching last night.

Greyson laughs when they both demand to be lifted and twirls them, strong arms steady, eyes bright.

It’s such an ordinary sight. But it’s everything.

“Mummy!” Quinn’s the first to spot me. “Look! Daddy says we’re princesses!”

My chest squeezes. “You certainly are,” I say softly.

Greyson glances up, eyes locking on me, and the grin that spreads across his face nearly undoes me.

“Bloody hell,” he mutters, a low whisper meant only for me. “You’re going to make the rest of London quit designing.”

“Stop it,” I laugh, but I’m smiling like an i***t.

“Can’t help it,” he murmurs, catching my hand and pulling me into their little circle.

Before I can protest, all four of us are spinning, laughing, hopelessly off-beat — and perfectly happy.

Later That Evening

Savannah Riley greets us at the door with her usual hurricane of warmth, sweeping both girls into her arms.

“Oh, my loves! You made it! And these dresses— Alyssa, darling, you’ve outdone yourself!”

“Thank you, Savannah. The girls picked the colour.”

Savannah beams. “Then they’ve inherited your eye for beauty.”

Dinner smells incredible — roast chicken, garlic butter, rosemary.

Lillian floats out from the kitchen with a grin.

“Hi Alyssa! Oh my god, that dress! You’re so—”

“Lillian,” Greyson warns, but she waves him off.

“She’s stunning. Admit it!”

He doesn’t even try to deny it.

Dinner is easy at first — laughter, chatter, plates clinking.

The girls sit between Savannah and Lillian, animatedly telling stories about school, soft play, and their last “girls’ day” with the uncles.

Alyssa looks more relaxed than I’ve seen her in weeks.

She’s glowing — cheeks warm, eyes bright, laughing with Savannah about Quinn’s obsession with glitter glue.

And then, suddenly, her laughter stops.

Mid-sentence, she freezes.

I notice first — the way her hand presses to her stomach, colour draining from her face.

“Alyssa?” I say quietly.

Her eyes flick to mine — wide, panicked — and before I can even move, she’s up, pushing her chair back.

“Excuse me,” she manages, and bolts from the dining room.

For a heartbeat, no one moves.

Then I’m out of my seat and following her down the hall.

She barely makes it into the downstairs bathroom before she’s sick, gripping the sink like it’s the only thing keeping her upright.

“Alyssa, love—” I start, stepping in behind her, but she waves me off weakly.

“I’m fine,” she whispers, though her voice is wrecked. “Just… dizzy. Oh God.”

She’s shaking again, sweat beading across her forehead. I wet a flannel under the tap and press it gently to the back of her neck.

Her body stills a little.

“Deep breaths,” I murmur, my hand on her back. “That’s it. In and out. You’re alright.”

Her reflection meets mine in the mirror — frightened, pale, exhausted.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, tears threatening to spill.

“Don’t you dare apologise,” I say softly. “You’re not ruining anything.”

A knock sounds at the door. It’s Savannah, voice calm but laced with concern.

“Everything alright in there, loves?”

I answer for her. “Just a funny turn, Mum. I’ve got her.”

There’s a pause, then a quiet, “Alright, darling. Take your time.”

When the sound of footsteps fades, Alyssa leans back against me, breathing shallow but steady.

“I thought I was better,” she says quietly.

“You are,” I reassure her. “Just a blip. Probably overdid it today, that’s all.”

She nods, eyes closed. “I hate this.”

“I know. But you’re okay. I promise.”

She tilts her head back, resting it against my chest, and I press a kiss to her temple.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

By the time we return to the table, Savannah’s already cleared Alyssa’s plate and replaced it with a glass of water and dry toast.

The girls are watching wide-eyed but quiet.

Lillian’s distracted them with talk of prom and nail polish — bless her.

Savannah smiles reassuringly when we sit back down. “You alright now, sweetheart?”

“Much better,” Alyssa says softly, though she’s still pale.

“Good. You gave us all a fright.”

“Sorry,” Alyssa murmurs, but Savannah waves her off.

“None of that. Happens to the best of us.”

The conversation picks back up — lighter this time, more careful — and though Alyssa joins in, her hand stays tucked in mine under the table the entire time.

Later That Night

The girls are asleep in the back seat by the time we pull into the drive.

Alyssa hasn’t said much since we left, staring out the window, lost in thought.

When I park, I reach over and take her hand.

“You’re scaring yourself over nothing, love.”

She turns to me, a small, tired smile tugging at her lips. “You think?”

“I know,” I say firmly. “You’re just run-down. Markus said it himself — low iron, exhaustion. That’s all this is.”

She nods, but the uncertainty lingers in her eyes.

Inside, I help her out of her coat, guide her to the sofa. She sits, leans into me without a word.

Her head fits perfectly against my shoulder, and I press a soft kiss to her hair.

For a while, we just sit there — the only sounds the soft hum of the heating and the quiet rhythm of her breathing.

Eventually, she whispers, “Greyson?”

“Yeah, love?”

“If I’m honest… I’m scared.”

I tighten my arm around her. “Then I’ll be scared with you. But we’ll figure it out. Together.”

Her fingers curl into my shirt.

And just before she drifts off, she murmurs so softly I almost miss it—

“Promise?”

“Always,” I whisper.

~ Markus ~

When my phone buzzes late that night, it’s a message from Greyson.

G: Alyssa was sick again tonight at dinner. She’s resting now. Still pale. Should I bring her in tomorrow?

M: If she’s still queasy by morning, yes. Could be stress, could be the iron, could be a virus. Keep her hydrated and fed.

G: Copy that.

I put the phone down but can’t shake the thought that something doesn’t quite add up.

Exhaustion and anaemia don’t come and go like that.

Still, I make a note to call her in for bloods again.

Just in case.