Serafina's POV

The sunlight streaming through the curtains felt distant, like it belonged to someone else's life. I lay in bed, the covers pulled tightly around me, as if they could protect me from everything outside this room. My body ached, but the real pain came from within—the quiet, gnawing emptiness, the loneliness that pressed down on me no matter how many people were in the house.

A soft knock at the door broke through the silence. I flinched, heart racing. My voice was barely a whisper when I spoke. "Who is it?"

"It's Mamma and me, tesoro," my father's deep voice answered.

I hesitated but then whispered, "Come in."

The door creaked open, and they entered, moving as if they were walking on fragile ground. My mother carried a tray of food, while my father lingered just behind her, his eyes searching mine. His gaze was always steady, but I couldn't meet it without feeling like I was being judged, like my brokenness was too much for him.

Mamma placed the tray on the nightstand beside me—simple things: a bowl of soup, fresh bread, and a glass of water. It all smelled warm, comforting, but I couldn't bring myself to touch it. I didn't feel hungry.

"We thought you might need something to eat," Mamma said, her voice gentle, careful, as if she were unsure of how much to offer.

I looked at the tray but didn't move. The weight of everything felt too much.

My father didn't say anything for a while. He just watched me, his gaze unwavering, but soft. He sat in the chair by the window, silent, as if waiting for me to make the first move.

"We don't have to talk," he said finally, his voice deep but laced with something I couldn't place. "We're just here, Fina. If you need us."

I swallowed hard, my chest tight. I wasn't sure if I needed them. I wasn't sure if I was capable of needing anyone anymore.

Mamma sat beside me on the bed, her hand hovering near mine but not touching. She studied me with sad, gentle eyes. "Whenever you're ready, tesoro," she said softly. "No pressure. We're just here."

I couldn't hold it in anymore. My tears started to fall, quietly at first, then harder, like the dam had finally broken. The guilt, the fear, the anger—it all surged forward. I couldn't stop it.

My father, always the strong one, the rock of the family, stood up and walked over to me in two strides. Without a word, he pulled me into his arms, wrapping them around me with a force that felt both protective and reassuring. His embrace was everything I hadn't realized I needed—strong and warm, a reminder that I wasn't alone.

"It's okay, tesoro," he whispered, his deep voice rumbling against my ear. "It's okay to be broken. You don't have to fix yourself right now."

I clung to him, my sobs shaking my body. His arms around me were like a shield, and for the first time in as long as I could remember, I allowed myself to feel small, to feel cared for. I buried my face against his chest, the scent of him—wood, leather, and something earthy—filling my senses.

"We'll figure this out together," he continued, his voice steady, unyielding. "I'm here, Fina. Always."

Mamma leaned closer, brushing my hair back from my face. She didn't say anything, just let me cry, let me release everything that had been bottled up inside.

The weight of their presence around me—steady, unshakable—was the only thing that kept me grounded in the midst of my chaos. For a moment, I believed that maybe I could be okay again. Maybe, with them by my side, I could find a way to heal.

And for that fleeting moment, I let myself believe it.

I didn't know how long I stayed there, wrapped in my father's arms, but it felt like time had stopped. His embrace was a steady anchor in the storm, and I let it pull me deeper into the warmth of the moment. The pain still lingered inside me, but for now, I was allowed to just feel his strength, his presence.

When my sobs finally began to subside, my father didn't let go. He just held me, his hand smoothing over my hair, his deep voice whispering soft reassurances I couldn't entirely comprehend but didn't need to.

"You don't have to face this all at once," he murmured. "We'll take it one day at a time, Fina."

I nodded against his chest, exhausted. My body felt like lead, but there was something soothing about being so close to him. I hadn't realized how much I needed this, how starved I had been for the feeling of being held and cared for.

Mamma moved closer, her fingers lightly grazing the edge of my sleeve. She was careful, tentative, but there was nothing uncertain in her eyes. They were soft, loving, but behind them lay the kind of resolve only a mother could have—the determination to fight for her child, to protect her no matter the cost.

"You're safe here, tesoro," she said quietly, her voice thick with emotion. "You don't have to go through this alone. We're all here."

I closed my eyes and let out a shaky breath. The weight of everything was suffocating, but there, in their arms, I found a fleeting peace. It wasn't enough to heal me, but it was a beginning.

Eventually, my father pulled back slightly, his hands cupping my face, his thumb brushing away the last remnants of tears. He looked at me, really looked at me, as if searching for something in my eyes.

"You're so much stronger than you think," he said softly, his voice low but fierce with affection. "You've survived things no one should ever have to. Don't ever forget that."

I swallowed, a lump rising in my throat. He wasn't just comforting me—he was reminding me of the person I used to be, the person I could still be if I fought hard enough.

"I'm scared, Papa," I whispered, my voice trembling.

He smiled, a sad but understanding smile. "It's okay to be scared. It's okay to not have all the answers. We'll help you find your way, every step of the way."

Mamma gently pulled the tray of food closer to me. "You need to eat, Fina," she said, her voice soft but insistent. "Even if it's just a little. For your strength."

I didn't feel hungry, but I knew they were right. I couldn't keep shutting down. For them, for myself, I had to try. Slowly, I reached for the bowl of soup, the warmth of it almost comforting against my cold hands.

"Thank you," I whispered, my voice small but full of gratitude.

Mamma smiled, brushing a stray strand of hair from my forehead. "You don't have to thank us, Fina. You're our daughter. We'll always be here."

My father stood up then, his hand gently squeezing my shoulder before he nodded toward the door. "We'll let you rest, tesoro. We're just down the hall if you need anything."

As they left the room, my father's reassuring presence lingered, a reminder that I wasn't alone anymore. The weight of everything didn't lift, but I knew that with time—and with them—I wouldn't have to carry it all by myself.

I slowly ate the soup, the warmth spreading through me in small, comforting waves. It wasn't much, but it was something. A small step toward healing, a small step toward finding myself again.

And as I finished the last bite, I realized something for the first time in days—I wasn't broken. I was lost, yes, but I wasn't beyond saving. And with my family by my side, I would find my way back.