The morning after Isaac’s outburst felt like the cabin had exhaled.
No one pretended the night before hadn’t happened. Breakfast was quiet—coffee poured, plates passed, eyes meeting and sliding away again. No forced cheer. No jokes to fill the silence. Just presence. Raw, uncertain, but present.
I sat at the head of the table, not because anyone had placed me there, but because I chose the spot. Dirk slid a plate in front of me—eggs, toast, a small bowl of berries he’d saved just for me. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.
When everyone had finished eating, I stood.
“I need to say something,” I told them.
They looked up—all ten. No phones. No distractions. Just them.
“I’m not reacting anymore,” I said. “I’m choosing. I’ve spent weeks letting this happen to me—letting moments p
