Invisible String

31

“My anxiety’s been kind of bad lately,” I admitted softly, not quite meeting his eyes. “I don’t even know why. Everything’s good. Austin’s here, he’s doing well. The girls are happy. Work is quiet. And yet…”

He didn’t push. He just nodded and tugged me closer, resting his chin on the top of my head.

“It doesn’t have to make sense,” he said gently. “You don’t owe anyone a reason.”

That made my throat tighten a little. Because he was right. I didn’t need a reason to feel overwhelmed or foggy or short of breath in the middle of the night. I didn’t need a reason to feel like I was doing everything wrong when everything on the outside looked right.

“I feel like I’m underwater sometimes,” I whispered. “Like I’m trying to keep everything floating, and I don’t want anyone to notice I’m the one sinking.”

Travis’s grip tightened just slightly, protective in the way that only he could be. “You’re not sinking. You’re just tired. And maybe carrying more than you let on.”

I finally looked up at him. His face was steady. Soft. Loving.

“Can I be honest?” I asked.

“Always.”

“I don’t need you to fix it. I just… I need you to keep asking.”

He leaned down and kissed my forehead. “Then I will. As many times as you need.”

And just like that, I let myself breathe a little deeper. Not fixed. Not finished. But safe. And that was enough for tonight.

The next morning, I was sitting at the kitchen table with a lukewarm cup of coffee, staring out the window while Mira gnawed on a teether in her high chair and Lily sat across from me with her crayons. The world felt heavy in that quiet, muffled way—like someone had laid a weighted blanket across my chest and forgotten to take it off.

Lily looked up from her drawing and frowned. “Mommy, are you sick?”

I blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“You look sick,” she said, pushing her paper toward me. It was a picture of us—stick figures, holding hands, with big hearts above our heads. “I drew this to help.”

My heart cracked a little at the tenderness in her voice.

“Oh, baby,” I said softly, reaching for her hand. “Thank you. That’s so sweet of you. But I’m not physically sick. Not like a cold or a tummy bug.”

She tilted her head, confused. “Then what’s wrong?”

I hesitated, then took a breath. “Sometimes, grown-ups get a different kind of sick. It’s not in our bodies, it’s in our heads. My brain is a little tired right now. It’s making me feel sad or worried even though everything is okay.”

Lily furrowed her brow. “So… your head is being mean?”

I smiled faintly. “Yeah, kind of. It’s telling me scary things that aren’t true. But Daddy and you and Mira help remind me what’s real.”

She leaned across the table and rested her little hand on top of mine. “You don’t have to be scared, Mommy. I’ll protect you.”

That did it. The tears hit fast and hot. I stood, scooped her up, and held her close, burying my face in her soft curls.

“Thank you, Lilybean,” I whispered. “You already do.”

She patted my back like I was the baby this time. “You need a nap and a popsicle. That’s what makes me feel better.”