Cradle of time

Fragile

Emma woke to the faint hum of the heater and the soft murmur of voices outside her door. Her eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, she stared at the unfamiliar ceiling, her heart sinking. This wasn't home. The soft lavender scent in the room, the crib's high wooden bars—everything reminded her of yesterday, of her outburst, of the way Elias and Noah had stopped her from leaving.

Her chest tightened at the memory. She had screamed, cried, fought with everything she had, but it hadn't mattered. They'd held her, talked to her, but they hadn't let her go. She pulled the blanket closer now, the fabric bunched in her tiny fists. Her pacifier was still in her mouth, the soft, rhythmic sucking a faint comfort in a world that felt too big, too foreign.

She heard the door open and froze, her eyes darting toward it. Elias stepped inside, his movements slow and careful, as if he were trying not to startle her. He stopped by the chair near the window, sitting down without saying anything at first. Emma watched him warily, her body tense beneath the blanket.

"Good morning, sweetheart," he said finally, his voice soft.

Emma didn't respond. She didn't know what to say—what could she say? She wanted to scream at him, tell him to take her back to the life she knew, but her throat felt tight, and she was too tired to fight again.

Elias didn't seem upset by her silence. He just sat there, his eyes kind but filled with something she didn't understand.

"Noah and I were thinking we could have pancakes for breakfast," he continued after a moment. "Would you like that?"

Emma blinked, her stomach twisting at the mention of food. She was hungry, but she didn't want to admit it. She didn't want to give them the satisfaction. Still, something in Elias's voice made her pause. He wasn't angry, not like the adults she was used to. He wasn't forcing her to answer.

She shifted slightly, her blanket slipping a little as her fingers tightened around the edge. Elias noticed, his smile softening.

"We're not in any rush," he said gently. "You can take all the time you need. We're here when you're ready."

Emma's chest ached at his words. She didn't understand how he could be so patient with her, especially after everything she'd done yesterday. But something about the way he spoke—calm, steady, unshakable—made her feel a little less scared.

When he reached out his hand, she hesitated. Her fingers twitched, her breath hitching as she stared at it. It wasn't a trap, was it? She searched his face for any sign of anger or disappointment, but all she saw was quiet encouragement.

Tentatively, she placed her hand in his. His hand was warm, gentle, and steady, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Emma felt like she wasn't completely alone.

"There's my brave girl," Elias said softly, and his words made her chest tighten again, though this time it didn't feel so bad.

Noah appeared in the doorway, his voice calm but firm. "How about we get you dressed, and then we'll head to the kitchen? You can help us pick the toppings for the pancakes."

Emma hesitated, but she nodded faintly. She didn't have the energy to argue, and the promise of pancakes sounded... okay.

Elias scooped her up, holding her close as they moved through the house. She stayed quiet, her head resting against his chest. His arms were strong but gentle, and she didn't feel trapped—at least, not as much as she had yesterday.

The kitchen smelled warm and inviting, the faint scent of vanilla and batter filling the air. Noah was already at the counter, mixing something in a bowl. He looked over his shoulder and gave her a smile, but it wasn't too big or overwhelming.

"Perfect timing," he said. "We were just about to add the toppings. Think you could help me out?"

Emma stared at the bowl in front of him, her fingers curling tighter around the stuffed rabbit she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She didn't answer, but Noah didn't seem to mind. Instead, he placed a small bowl of blueberries on the counter and gestured to it.

"No pressure," he said casually. "But I think these pancakes will be extra yummy if you pick the best ones for us."

Emma glanced at the blueberries, then at Elias, who was crouched beside her now. He gave her a small nod, his expression full of quiet encouragement.

Slowly, she reached out and picked up a single blueberry, her hands trembling slightly. She dropped it into the batter, watching as it disappeared beneath the surface.

"That's perfect, sweetheart," Elias said softly, his voice warm and proud.

Noah grinned. "You've got an eye for this, huh? These are going to be the best pancakes ever."

Emma didn't smile, but she felt a tiny flicker of something—maybe pride, maybe relief—at their words. She stayed quiet as Noah finished cooking, watching him pour the batter onto the griddle and flip the pancakes with practiced ease.

When it was time to eat, Emma picked at her pancake slowly, her pacifier still tucked into the corner of her mouth. She didn't feel like talking, but she didn't feel as scared anymore, either.

Elias and Noah didn't push her to say anything. They just talked to each other, their voices calm and steady, creating a space where Emma felt... safe.

As she nibbled at her pancake, her eyes flickering between the two of them, she realized something. Maybe she didn't understand them yet. Maybe she was still scared and confused. But for the first time, a small part of her wondered if she didn't have to figure it all out alone.

And for now, that was enough.