Chapter 34 - The Anchor
I brought Clara home early. We spent the afternoon building a fort out of blankets in the living room—a safe, soft confined space of our own making.
When Mark got home from work, he found us asleep on the rug inside the fort.
He didn't wake us. He quietly took off his shoes, loosened his tie, and went into the kitchen to start dinner.
I woke up to the smell of garlic and roasting chicken. I crawled out of the fort, leaving a sleeping Clara, and walked into the kitchen.
"Hey," Mark smiled, chopping vegetables. "How are my two favorite girls?"
I leaned against the counter, suddenly exhausted. "We had a rough day."
I told him about the fire alarm. As I spoke, my hands started to tremble again. The physical memory of the panic attack was still lingering in my chest.
Mark put down his knife. He wiped his hands on a towel, walked over, and pulled me into his chest. He didn't offer platitudes. He didn't tell me it was in the past.
He just held me. Solid. Unmoving.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I thought I was past this."
"Healing isn't a straight line," Mark said softly, kissing the top of my head. "You panicked because your brain is wired to protect her. It makes you a great mother. But you're not in the dark anymore. And I've got you."
May you like
I listened to the steady, calm rhythm of his heartbeat.
Alex had always run from my anxiety, finding it too heavy to carry. Mark built a foundation under it.
