Page 88 of Nyx

I hate the sense of relief I feel when she declines.

I know the poor woman is just trying to get her footing, but she seems to lack the ability to read a situation and respond appropriately, and I don't know if that's something that can be taught.

Sighing, I turn back to the office and grab my task list, having been distracted by her questions about the guy who has been watching over me recently.

I've noticed him, and not just in the way you do with someone being in and around your space.

He's handsome, helpful, and protective of me, even if it's only because he's getting paid to be. I think any woman would notice him in this situation, but realizing that Kayla has noticed him also makes a weird sense of ownership come over me, and I have no claim on that man.

"I wanted to say thank you again," Dana says when I pass the dining area on my way to the kitchen. "That group really helped me a lot the other day. Really put some things into perspective for me."

"I'm glad," I tell her with a smile. "It's very hard to sit with our own mistakes, but hearing that I'm not alone in my choices has always helped me."

"Daisy leaned her head on me last night while watching a movie," she says, a soft gratefulness in her voice.

"That's great news," I say, my smile genuine.

"All progress counts, right?"

"It does," I assure her. "Keep at it."

Breakfast comes and goes, Andrea chattering away as I help her prepare the meal.

I sit with them at the table, enjoying a cinnamon roll and a small cup of fruit.

It doesn't take long to notice how quiet Traci is, and I get the feeling that her silence has little to do with her exhaustion as she nears the end of her pregnancy.

"You up for a chat?" I ask as everyone else clears the table and begins their day.

It's Saturday, so the kids are deciding which movies they want to binge-watch today. Melissa is heading to work in an hour, and Caroline left before breakfast because her shift starts at seven in the morning.

Kayla disappeared as soon as she finished eating, but I get the feeling she'll be more social once Andrea takes her break before lunch.

"Sure," she says, exuding a ton of effort just to stand up from her place at the table.

I wait for her to take her dishes to the sink, rinse them, and place them in the dishwasher, something expected of everyone who lives here, even the kids.

"Let's head to the office," I offer, walking more slowly than I normally would to accommodate her speed.

"It feels like I'm in trouble," she says as she enters, taking a seat across from my desk.

"You're not. I promise," I assure her. "I just wanted to touch base with you."

"I'm fine," she says, and the speed of her response doesn't match how she's been acting since we had the meeting outside the day before yesterday.

"We said a lot of things the other day," I begin as I round my desk and take a seat across from her. "I wanted to check and see how it was sitting with you."

She's quiet at first, her eyes locked on the hand rubbing a spot on her belly.

"There's this voice in my head," she whispers. "It wants to argue that my husband isn't like all these other men. I mean, like, he isn't as bad as what the other women were saying about their partners."

"There are levels of abuse," I say. "And although your husband may have never hospitalized you as a result of his abuse—"

My words freeze when she looks up at me, confirming that her husband has, in fact, contributed to a hospitalization.

"It was dehydration," she says, a hint of an excuse for his role in it in her tone.

"How did you get dehydrated?" I ask.