I sit on the bed, breathing slowly, my fingers still trembling a little from everything that happened earlier.

My eyes feel tender, like I cried too hard, and my chest holds that strange mix of heaviness and lightness that always comes after an emotional break.

Santino had held me through it quiet, firm, warm like he wasn’t going anywhere. And he hadn’t judged me. He hadn’t asked for more. He had just held me until the shaking stopped.

After I calmed down, he left the room for a few ...