Page 65 of Manic

But another part, the part that's been hurt and betrayed too many times, holds back.

"It's nothing," I say finally, turning back to the cutting board. "Just one of those days, you know?"

Tor doesn't buy it for a second.

He gently turns me to face him, his hands on my shoulders. "Meghan, I know you're still getting used to all this. To us. But you're safe here. You and Tindra both. I promise you that."

I look up into his eyes, seeing the sincerity there, the depth of feeling that both thrills and terrifies me. "I know," I whisper. "I'm trying to believe it. It's just... hard sometimes."

He pulls me into his arms then, and I allow myself to sink into his embrace, just for a moment.

His strength envelops me, and I feel some of the tension leave my body.

"One day at a time," he murmurs into my hair. "That's all we can do."

I nod against his chest, fighting back tears.

When I pull away, I manage a more genuine smile. "Thank you. For being here. For... doing all that you’ve done."

Tor cups my face in his hands, his touch impossibly gentle. "Always," he says, and the word holds a weight, a promise that makes my heart stutter.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs breaks the moment, and we step apart just as Tindra enters the kitchen.

"Dad!" she exclaims, her face lighting up. "Are you staying for dinner?"

Tor grins, ruffling her hair as she hugs him. "If that's okay with you."

"Of course it is," I say, turning back to the stove to hide the flush in my cheeks. "Hope you like stir fry."

As we settle into the familiar routine of cooking and setting the table, I feel some of my earlier anxiety fade.

Watching Tor and Tindra laugh together, seeing the easy affection between them, I allow myself to hope.

Hope that maybe, just maybe, we've found somewhere we can truly belong.

But even as warmth fills my chest, a small voice in the back of my mind whispers a warning.

Don't get too comfortable, it says.

Don't let your guard down.

Because the moment you do, that's when everything falls apart.

I push the thought away, focusing instead on the here and now.

On my daughter's smile, on Tor's steady presence, on the home we're slowly building together.

One day at a time, I remind myself.

As we sit down to eat, the conversation flows easily, punctuated by laughter and the clinking of our forks and knives.

I find myself relaxing, drawn into the warmth of family—a concept that still feels foreign, yet increasingly precious.

"So, how was work today?" Tor asks, his eyes meeting mine over his plate.

I shrug, twirling noodles around my fork. "Busy, but good. Beans & Babes is really taking off here."

"That's great," he says, genuine pride in his voice. "You've worked hard for it."

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