Chapter 22

The rain tapped softly against the window, a quiet rhythm that filled the silence Jennie hadn’t spoken through in hours.

She sat curled up on the couch, knees tucked to her chest, fingers gripping the sleeves of Lisa’s hoodie like it was the only thing holding her together. The room was dim, only lit by a warm lamp in the corner—but even that felt too bright for how heavy everything was.

Lisa watched from the doorway for a moment.

Jennie hadn’t moved much since they got home.

Hadn’t eaten. Hadn’t slept.

Hadn’t stopped blaming herself.

Lisa crossed the room slowly, carefully, like Jennie might shatter if she moved too fast. She knelt in front of her, brushing a strand of hair away from Jennie’s face.

“Hey…” she whispered.

Jennie didn’t look up.

“I’m sorry.”

Her voice cracked—small, fragile, like it didn’t belong to the Jennie Lisa knew.

Lisa’s chest tightened. “For what?”

Jennie finally lifted her gaze, eyes swollen and red. “For… not being careful enough. For… maybe working too much. For not noticing sooner. I should’ve—”

Lisa shook her head immediately, gently taking Jennie’s hands in hers.

“No.”

“But—”

“No, Nini,” Lisa said softly, firmer this time. “You don’t get to do that to yourself.”

Jennie let out a shaky breath, tears spilling again. “But it’s my body, Lisa… I was supposed to protect—”

“And you did,” Lisa interrupted, her voice still gentle but unwavering. “You loved them. You carried them. You dreamed about them. That is protecting.”

Jennie’s lips trembled. “Then why did I lose them?”

The question hung in the air—raw, aching, impossible to answer.

Lisa swallowed, her own eyes stinging now. She moved up onto the couch, pulling Jennie into her arms without hesitation. Jennie resisted for a second—just a second—before melting into her, burying her face into Lisa’s shoulder.

“This wasn’t your fault,” Lisa murmured against her hair. “Not even a little bit.”

Jennie clutched her shirt tighter. “It feels like it is.”

“I know,” Lisa whispered. “I know it does… but feelings don’t always tell the truth.”

Jennie cried quietly, her shoulders shaking. Lisa held her closer, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other rubbing slow, comforting circles on her back.

“You know what I see?” Lisa continued softly.

Jennie didn’t respond, but she listened.

“I see the strongest woman I know… trying to carry something that was never meant to be carried alone.” Lisa pressed a gentle kiss to Jennie’s temple. “And blaming herself for something she had no control over.”

Jennie sniffled. “I just… I wanted them so much.”

Lisa’s heart broke all over again.

“I know, baby,” she whispered. “Me too.”

That was the first time Jennie stilled.

“You…?” she pulled back slightly, searching Lisa’s face.

Lisa nodded, brushing her thumb under Jennie’s eyes. “Of course I did. I already imagined teaching them how to take photos… and you arguing with them over bedtime like you do with me.”

A weak, broken laugh slipped through Jennie’s tears.

Lisa smiled softly. “I was ready to be wrapped around their tiny fingers.”

Jennie’s lips quivered again. “I’m sorry…”

Lisa shook her head, leaning their foreheads together. “Don’t apologize for loving them.”

Silence fell again—but it felt different now. Less suffocating. Less lonely.

“I feel empty,” Jennie admitted quietly.

Lisa tightened her arms around her. “Then let me stay with you in that emptiness… until it doesn’t feel so heavy anymore.”

Jennie closed her eyes, finally letting herself lean fully into Lisa.

“You’re not broken,” Lisa murmured. “You’re grieving. There’s a difference.”

Jennie’s breathing slowly steadied, though her grip on Lisa never loosened.

“I’m here,” Lisa continued, her voice barely above a whisper. “For every tear… every bad day… every ‘what if’ you can’t stop thinking about.”

She kissed Jennie’s forehead, lingering there.

“And we’ll get through this. Together. At your pace.”

Jennie nodded faintly against her, voice small but certain.

“Don’t let go of me.”

Lisa held her tighter.

“Never.”