Chapter 8

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The pressure had been building for weeks. Between her responsibilities at work, her growing emotional investment in Emily, and her own internal battle with anxiety and depression, Lucy was stretched thin. Every day felt like a balancing act, and she was losing her grip.

The weight of it all—the need to keep up appearances, to be strong for everyone around her—was becoming unbearable.

At home, Tim had been walking on eggshells, trying to help her without pushing too hard. But even his gentle concern was starting to feel suffocating.

One morning, as they prepared for their shift, Tim placed a plate of food in front of Lucy, his voice soft and caring.

"Lucy, you should eat something," he said, his eyes filled with concern.

But Lucy wasn't hungry. She hadn't been hungry in days. The mere sight of the food made her stomach turn. The anxiety that had taken up residence in her chest flared, and without thinking, she snapped.

"Stop!" she shouted, her voice louder than she intended. She pushed the plate away, her hands trembling with anger and frustration. "I don't need you to fix me, Tim!"

The words hung in the air, heavy and sharp. Tim stood there, stunned, hurt flashing across his face.

He hadn't been trying to fix her—he had just been trying to help. But Lucy couldn't see that in the moment. She couldn't hear the love and concern in his voice over the deafening noise of her own self-loathing.

"I'm just trying to help, Lucy," Tim said softly, his voice laced with pain.

But Lucy couldn't respond. She turned away, her chest tight with guilt and anger—anger at herself for pushing him away, and anger at him for trying to help when she felt beyond saving.

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