Page 139 of Let Me In

“I know, baby. I know.”

I try again to breathe but it catches, messy and loud.

A hiccup stutters out of me.

It’s small.

Soft.

But it hits him like a blow.

I feel it—in the way his arms tighten around me, in the way his hand cups the back of my head like he could shield me from every awful thing that ever made me believe I had to be this strong.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “You don’t have to be sorry.”

His lips press into my hair. Again and again.

“You’re here. You let me keep you safe. That’s all I ever wanted.”

The words reach somewhere deep, brushing against a place I didn’t know still ached.

My fingers clutch at his shirt.

Tighter.

I don’t have words anymore.

Just tears.

Just breath.

Just him.

And he rocks me.

Barely moving, just enough to remind me I’m being held. Just enough to tell my body it can start to let go.

“I’ve got you, little one,” he says again. “You’ve had enough of the world for one day.”

And this time, I believe it. He holds me like I’m something sacred. Tucked against his chest, still hiccupping into his shirt. He doesn’t let go. Doesn’t shift me off his lap. Just gathers the quilt around us and holds me tighter.

One arm loops firm around my waist. The other cups the back of my head. His lips press against my hair, lingering there like a promise.

Softly, like we’ve got all the time in the world:

“I know why you did it.”

I blink. Still hiccuping. Still sniffling.

But I listen.

He nudges his cheek against my temple, grounding me. The motion is slow, deliberate—like a silent promise, or maybe a reassurance that he’s not going anywhere. It’s gentle, but it sinks deep, and I feel the press of it echo low in my chest, like something steady finally anchoring me.

“You were brave,” he says. “You were smart.”

My chest tightens. Because I was. I know I was.

But I still broke the rule. Still got myself hurt.

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