I froze when I heard the soft knock at the door, my chest tightening until it almost hurt. We weren't expecting anyone today. We hardly ever expected anyone anymore; it had been weeks since we'd had a day without someone dropping by. Ever since Gary's attack, the door had become a threshold for pity, for sympathy, for questions I didn't want to answer.
I'd given my statement to the police. I'd spoken to the CPS. I'd sat across from doctors and psychiatrists, retelling the worst moments of my life in words that felt hollow. I was exhausted — not just tired, but wrung out. Empty. I didn't want to talk about it anymore. I needed a day without the world knocking.
Louise from the bakery had been one of the few lights through it all. Every couple of days she came with a paper bag of warm rolls or pastries, a hug I didn't know I needed until it was there. She'd say nothing or say everything, depending on what I could handle. I loved her for that.
Freddie Cooper was different. He'd come to "check" on me a few times until Mum, in that quiet, but steel way of hers, told him it would be better if he stayed away. She must have seen how uneasy I was around him. It wasn't anything he said outright — more the way he talked, the way his voice dropped into an almost-whisper, too close, too personal. It made my skin crawl, like I was being backed into a corner without ever being touched.
The knock came again, louder this time.
Mum had gone to the shops. Teddy was upstairs with Zoey. Teddy hadn't left my side since that night. Sweet, sweet Teddy. My loud, brash, obnoxious little brother had slipped into this unexpected protector role with a gentleness I didn't even know he had. He was the one who sat outside the bathroom door when I showered, who made sure Zoey stayed quiet when I cried. He'd grown up overnight, or maybe he'd just decided he wasn't going to let anyone else hurt me again.
I hesitated. Should I call him down before opening the door? My fingers hovered over the latch. Part of me wanted to run, to hide behind the walls I'd built around myself, walls I'd been fortifying since… since everything. But another, louder part of me — the part that still ached for comfort, for Tommy — urged me forward.
I shook my head. I can do this.
I opened the door, and there he was. Tommy.
He stood on the step, looking like he'd walked straight out of the storm I'd been living in. A small bag in one hand, a rucksack slung over his shoulder. He looked older somehow, or maybe just worn down — his hair a little messier, his eyes darker from lack of sleep. There was a restless energy about him, like weeks of waiting and worrying had etched themselves into his skin.
"Hey," he said quietly, his voice low, tentative, like he wasn't sure if he should even be here.
"Hi," I murmured. I couldn't step closer, but couldn't shut the door, either.
My hand stayed on the edge of the doorframe, trembling. His vulnerability — the quiet desperation in his eyes — broke something inside me. I wanted to tell him to go. To tell him he shouldn't see me like this, that I was too far gone, that I was broken and not worth saving. But my legs didn't move. My hands didn't move.
He stepped a little closer, not too much, careful, the way someone might approach a wounded animal.
"Emma… I can't stand not knowing you're okay." His voice cracked slightly, just enough to make me flinch. "I hate seeing you like this… like you're carrying all of it alone."
I swallowed hard. "I'm… I'm fine," I said, but the words sounded brittle, like they belonged to someone else.
"You don't have to be fine," he said softly. "Not with me. You don't have to pretend. I just… I just want to be here. If you'll let me."
Something shifted inside me, small, but real. I nodded, just slightly, enough for him to see. He gave a careful, small smile — not his usual bright grin, but something quieter, a promise instead of a performance.
He stepped inside and closed the door gently behind him. His eyes flicked over the hallway — the coat rack, the scuffed skirting boards — like he was grounding himself in my world. I led him into the sitting room.
He sat on the edge of the sofa, hands clasped in front of him, elbows on his knees. I hovered for a second before perching next to him, leaving a gap, but not much of one.
From upstairs came the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Teddy. I turned instinctively, my chest tightening again.
He appeared at the foot of the stairs, Zoey's small toy still clutched in his hand. His eyes went straight to Tommy.
For a long moment, they didn't speak.
Teddy's face was unreadable, but his eyes flicked over Tommy like he was measuring him, weighing whether this boy — this outsider — could be trusted with me. There was no aggression in him, but there was something steady, protective, almost adult.
Tommy met his gaze and didn't look away. He gave a small nod, not much more than a tilt of his chin, but it was enough. Teddy's shoulders eased, just a fraction. Then he turned and padded back up the stairs, the toy rattling in his grip.
It was the strangest thing — no words, but a silent agreement passed between them. A recognition. Respect.
Tommy let out a slow breath once Teddy was gone. He didn't say anything about it, but the way his eyes softened told me he'd felt it too.
I looked back at him. "He's… he's been different. Since…" I trailed off.
He nodded. "He cares about you. You know that, right?"
I blinked hard against the sting in my eyes. "I didn't. Not like this."
For a moment we just sat there, the quiet pressing in around us. He reached into his rucksack and pulled out a cassette tape in a clear plastic case. The handwritten label caught my eye — For Emma. My breath caught in my throat.
"I made this for you," he said softly, thumb brushing the edge of the case. "When I stopped getting your letters, I… I didn't know what had happened. I just knew something was wrong. So I made this."
He placed it gently on the table between us. "It's just songs I kept hearing that made me think of you. Of us."
I stared at it, afraid to touch it, like it might dissolve if I did. "What's on it?"
He smiled faintly. "A bit of everything. But there's one song that… kind of says what I want to say now."
He glanced toward the old cassette player near the window, the only one we had. "Can I?"
I nodded, and he crossed to the player. The tape clicked in, a brief hiss of static, then the slow, steady rhythm of a familiar guitar riff began to fill the room.
The moment the first words came through — Every breath you take, every move you make, I'll be watching you… — something inside me cracked.
The melody was haunting, the lyrics somehow both comforting and suffocating. I felt his gaze on me, but couldn't look back.
He sat down again, his voice almost a whisper. "That's what I wanted you to know. That I'll be there. Every moment. I should have been before, and I wasn't. I thought I had time, that we'd have more… and then…" He trailed off, his jaw tightening. "I let you down."
"Tommy," I whispered, shaking my head. "You didn't —"
He cut me off softly. "I did. I should've been here. I should've protected you."
Tears spilled over, hot and silent. "You can't protect me from everything."
He exhaled sharply, looking down at his hands. "Maybe not. But I can try. I'll be there now. Every step. I mean it, Emma — every breath you take, I'll be watching, not in a weird way, just… I won't let you go through anything alone again."
The song swelled behind his words, Sting's voice a soft ache in the background. I reached for his hand without even thinking, my fingers slipping into his. His palm was warm, calloused, trembling slightly.
We sat there together, the music washing over us — a strange kind of vow carried by a song that wasn't really a love song but somehow was for us.
When the last note faded, the room went utterly still.
He didn't let go. Neither did I.
And in that small, fragile silence, I realised I believed him.
He wasn't just saying it to make me feel safe — he meant it. He was here.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, I let myself believe I might be safe again.