“I don’t want to say the wrong thing,” I admitted.
Trevor nodded like he’d expected that. “You won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do,” he said calmly. “Because the truth hasn’t changed.”
He stood and crossed the room, sitting beside me this time. Close, but not crowding. His knee brushed mine.
“You loved John,” he said quietly. “You waited for him. You grieved him. And when you couldn’t stay suspended in that grief anymore, you chose to live.”
I swallowed.
“That’s not a crime,” he continued. “It’s not suspicious. And it doesn’t need defending.”
I nodded slowly, letting his words settle.
“You don’t owe anyone an explanation for surviving,” he added.
Something in my chest softened at that.
He reached for my hand and squeezed once. “All you need to do today is stay present. I’ll handle the rest.”
The rest.
I thought of Seth then - his voice on the voicemail, tight with worry. The tension in his shoulders… Someone close.
The words brushed the edge of my mind, but I didn’t let them land.
“I should text Seth,” I said instead. “Just so he knows I’m okay.”
Trevor didn’t say no.
He just tilted his head slightly, considering. “You can,” he said. “But he’s already anxious. And anything you say right now is going to sound heavier than you mean it to.”
I hesitated.
“You don’t need to manage his feelings today,” he added gently. “You need to manage yours.”
That sounded reasonable. Responsible, even.
I nodded. “Okay.”
He smiled, relief flickering briefly across his face before he masked it. “Good.”
The doorbell rang then, sharp in the quiet.
“Lunch,” Trevor said, standing. “Perfect timing.”
He moved toward the door, leaving me on the couch with my thoughts and the strange, suspended feeling that had followed me since morning, like my life was being carefully packed into boxes I hadn’t labeled myself.
I looked down at my phone resting on the cushion beside me.
No new messages.
Seth hadn’t called again.
I told myself that was a good thing. That it meant he trusted me. That everyone was giving me space.