That night, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling while shadows shifted across the walls. The blanket was pulled high to my chin, but no matter how tightly I wrapped myself, the cold found its way in. Not the kind of cold a quilt could fix, but the kind that seeped from memory — from Harry's hand clamping my arm, the sharp sting across my cheek, my back hitting the wall behind me making my whole body shake, the way his voice had dripped venom when he said no one told him no.
I squeezed my eyes shut, but that only brought the scene back more vividly. The alley. The rough brick at my back. The weight of his body pressing too close.
I forced my breathing slow, tried to think of something else — Tommy's smile, the steady thump of his heartbeat when I'd rested against him, the North Star pendant warm against my skin. But even that comfort flickered, drowned beneath the aftershock of fear.
Down the hall, the house was quiet, but I knew my family wasn't sleeping either. Teddy's door hadn't closed all the way, and every now and then I caught the faint creak of floorboards as if he was checking I was still there. Mum had left the landing light on — something she hadn't done since Zoey was two and afraid of the dark. Dad's shadow had passed my door more than a few times, heavy-footed, restless.
I should have felt smothered by their worry. Instead, I felt cocooned. Their reactions — Mum's tenderness, Dad's rare fury and protectiveness, Teddy's bravery and unwavering loyalty — had shaken me almost as much as the attack itself. I wasn't used to being the centre of so much care. It overwhelmed me. But beneath that overwhelm was something else: a steady glow. Loved. Beyond measure.
Still, sleep didn't come easily. Every time I drifted close, I jolted awake, my heart racing, certain Harry was outside, waiting. At one point, I padded to the window, parted the curtains just enough to check. Only the quiet streetlights and the still night air met me, but I didn't fully believe it.
By the time dawn pushed pale light through my curtains, my eyes burned, and every muscle ached from tension. I hadn't slept properly, but I still pushed myself upright, I was still breathing. That counted for something.
The next morning, my family took me to the doctor. Teddy argued fiercely to come inside too, but Dad put a hand on his shoulder and shook his head. "Let your mum handle this. We'll be waiting outside the doctors when you're finished." Teddy had scowled, muttered something under his breath, but he didn't fight further.
The walk to the surgery felt both too short and endless. Every step closer made my stomach twist tighter. What if people saw? What if someone recognised me, guessed why I was there?
Inside, the waiting room smelled faintly of antiseptic and the lingering sweetness of boiled sweets kept in a jar by the receptionist. I sat stiffly, staring at the posters on the wall, while Mum sat beside me, her hand resting lightly over mine.
When my name was called, I nearly jumped. The doctor — a middle-aged man with kind eyes — didn't waste time with pleasantries. A nurse sat to his right with a large notebook and a camera. He glanced at the note the PCs had given me to give to him, then at me. "Emma, I'm sorry you've had such a frightening experience. My job today is to document any injuries, so that you don't have to keep proving what happened over and over. I'll be thorough, but quick."
I nodded, my throat too tight for words. Mum squeezed my hand, then stepped back to give me some space.
The doctor was efficient and careful as he examined the bruises on my arm, the faint mark on my cheek, the marks on my back. He dictated quietly to the nurse, noting each detail. I sat frozen, heat burning in my face as the camera clicked again, capturing what I wanted most to forget.
"It's important evidence," the nurse said to me softly. "You're being so strong and doing the right thing."
I wished I felt it. Mostly, I felt exposed, like my skin wasn't my own anymore.
When it was done, the doctor set his pen down and gave me a long, steady look. "Emma, what happened was not your fault. You were attacked, and the shame belongs to him, not you. Don't carry it as yours."
The words cracked something open inside me. Tears spilled before I could stop them. Mum was beside me in an instant, wrapping me in her arms, her cheek pressed against my hair. "It's alright, love. You've been so brave. So brave."
For the first time since the alley, I let myself cry properly. The sound was raw, ugly, but in Mum's embrace it felt allowed, safe. The doctor and nurse left the room and closed the door quietly.
When we left the surgery, the air outside was cool and damp like it would rain. The world looked normal — people walking dogs, buses rumbling past, children skipping with schoolbags. I clutched Mum's hand tighter. Everything looked the same, but nothing inside me was. Dad and Teddy were waiting outside. Dad was carrying Zoey. He looked older, somehow. They didn't say a word, just stepped forward either side of Mum and me like sentries.
That evening, the house felt quieter than usual. Dinner had been subdued, we were careful not to bring up anything in front of the twins, though the silence spoke louder than any words.
Afterward, Mum busied herself with tidying up the kitchen, Dad stayed at the table with the paper, but Teddy lingered. I could feel his eyes on me, watching, waiting.
When I slipped upstairs early, saying I was tired, it wasn't long before a soft knock tapped at my door.
"Em?" Teddy's voice, low, uncertain.
"Yeah," I said, and he pushed the door open just enough to peek in. His tall frame filled the gap before he stepped inside and shut it behind him.
I was perched on the edge of my bed, still dressed, hair damp from a too-long bath. He sat beside me, not saying anything at first. That was Teddy — never rushing, just giving me space.
The words tangled in my throat, but they wouldn't leave me alone. I picked at the hem of my sleeve. "Teddy… do you think Tommy... would hate me if he knew?"
Teddy's head jerked up, his eyes narrowing. "What? Emma, no. Why would you even —"
"Because Harry said…" My voice cracked. I swallowed hard, trying again. "He said no one would believe me. That I wasn't important. That —"
"Stop." Teddy's hand closed around mine, firm but careful. His jaw was tight, eyes fierce in the dim light. "Don't let that bastard's words stick in your head. He doesn't get to tell you who you are, or what Tommy thinks of you. If anything, Tommy would probably come back here and break Harry's other bones."
A shaky laugh slipped out of me, half a sob. "You make it sound so simple."
"It is simple," Teddy said stubbornly. "You're my sister. You're strong, braver than I've ever been, and anyone who matters — Tommy most of all — will see that. What Harry tried to do doesn't change that."
I leaned against him then, my head finding his shoulder, his solid warmth grounding me. For a long time, neither of us spoke. The quiet between us was full, not empty — a kind of promise, unspoken but sure.
"You won't tell him, will you?" I whispered finally. "Not yet. I want to. But in my own time."
Teddy squeezed my hand once, hard. "Not a word. You get to decide when. Until then, I'll keep watch. Like your own personal bodyguard." He grinned, but I knew he meant it.
Something inside me loosened at that — not healed, not yet, but steadied. I let out a slow breath, closing my eyes. For the first time all day, the fear didn't feel like it was swallowing me whole.