Page 65 of Unclench Me Softly

Asher kneels beside me, holding it out like it’s the Sacred Scroll of Inner Knowing.

“It’s for your personal stillness,” he says. “I wanted it to be… grounding. Comforting. But also practical. But also something you’d never buy for yourself. But also vibey. And meaningful.”

I blink at him. “Is it a…?”

“Open it,” he says, practically vibrating.

I pull the ribbon, unwrap the velvet, and inside is… a luxury weighted robe.

Soft as sin. Lined with ethically sourced, lavender-scented microbeads. Hooded. With a hidden interior pocket. For crystals. Or snacks.

Asher grins. “It’s called The Womb Cloak™. They only make, like, ten a year. I had to message someone on Etsy and prove I was spiritually worthy.”

I stare at it. Then back at him. “I… Asher, this is…”

“I just thought,” he says softly, “If you’re always holding space for everyone else, maybe something should hold space for you.”

The dome goes quiet. Not sacred quiet. Surprised, emotional chaos quiet.

Even Jax sits up.

Miles tilts his head.

Seb squints at me like he’s reassessing my entire soul.

Jonah just murmurs, “Nicely done,” and unwraps his box with deadly calm.

I pull the robe into my lap, already overwhelmed, and suddenly I’m blinking way too fast for someone who’s supposed to be leading Sacred Stillness in the Root Chakra Lounge™.

I clear my throat. Try to smile. “Thank you, Asher. That’s… incredibly thoughtful.”

“You deserve nice things,” he says. “Especially when you pretend not to.”

I might die. I might combust. Or I might throw this robe over my body, sink into a cushion, and finally admit that stillness is way harder to maintain when five emotionally devastating men keep doing soft, considerate shit.

I clutch the robe to my chest like it might protect me from the growing pile of soft emotional chaos building at my feet.

Asher is still smiling at me like he didn’t just spiritually dismantle my defenses with a gift that smells like lavender and emotional security.

I clear my throat, find my voice, and rise with the quiet dignity of a woman who absolutely did not cry over a weighted garment with a secret snack pocket.

“Your stillness work,” I say calmly, “Is not done.”

They look up.

I inhale. Ground myself. Lie with authority. “Stillness is not just something you practice on a cushion. It must be found in nature. It must be sought. Claimed. Breathed into existence.”

Jonah tilts his head slightly. “We’re going into the woods.”

“Correct,” I say.

Seb grunts. Possibly a yes.

Jax raises an eyebrow. “And we’re looking for…?”

I wave my hand like the answer is obvious. “Your Stillness Token. A sacred object that calls to your inner quiet. You’ll know it when you see it. Could be an acorn. Could be a weirdly shaped rock. Could be a pinecone with eyes.”

“Eyes?” Miles mutters.

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