Echoes of Three Souls

Chapter 22: Fragile Hearts

Reese POV

By Monday, Scarlett and I both noticed Maeve wasn't herself. Her usual lighthearted replies had dulled, her sweet innocence replaced by vague, almost robotic responses. It wasn't like her. Day by day, it felt like she was retreating into a shell we thought we'd helped her break out of. Scarlett was the first to voice it aloud—her fear that Maeve was pulling away from us, that perhaps we had overwhelmed her with the intensity of what was blossoming between the three of us.

"I think Friday was too much," Scarlett admitted late one night, guilt lining her words. "Maybe we've been pushing too fast."

I disagreed. "There's more to this," I said firmly. "It's not just us. Something else is going on with her." I wasn't sure what, but the Maeve I'd come to know—the quiet, kind, achingly gentle Maeve—didn't just shut down without reason.

Still, Scarlett worried. She replayed Friday's events in her mind, trying to pick apart every glance, every word, for a clue to what might have gone wrong. I tried to reassure her, but even I felt the unease creeping in. By Thursday evening, when neither of us had heard from Maeve, worry turned into outright fear. Scarlett took matters into her own hands, calling Devin. It was that conversation that shattered any lingering doubts. It wasn't us. It was her life—her past, her pain—catching up with her. Knowing that didn't lessen the ache in my chest. If anything, it made it worse. Our baby doll was hurting, and she hadn't come to us for comfort. She hadn't trusted us with her burden.

Scarlett and I didn't even discuss it. The decision to go to her was unspoken, as natural as breathing. When we arrived at her door, I expected hesitation and resistance. But when the door finally opened, all those expectations were replaced with a pang so sharp it nearly knocked the air out of me. She stood there, dwarfed by the doorway, her tiny frame wrapped in a blanket that seemed far too big for her. Her eyes, framed by dark circles, met mine for only a moment before dropping to the floor. She looked... fragile, like a porcelain doll that had been dropped one too many times but hadn't yet shattered.

My chest tightened as I took her in. This wasn't just exhaustion. This was starvation of the body and the soul. She looked like she hadn't eaten properly in days, her pale skin stretched too thin over delicate bones. I wanted to gather her up in my arms, shield her from whatever had caused this, and never let her go.

She told us that she hadn't wanted to worry us, that she didn't want to be a burden. I needed her to know that she would never be a burden, not when she was ours, and by shutting us out, she only worried us more. I wasn't afraid often, but in that moment, I was fearful that she would kick us out or try to get rid of us. She didn't she let us in and crumbled right before us, allowing us to give her the comfort she needed. When I finally held her in my arms, soothing her through her emotions, I felt a sense of peace, knowing that she was safe. I wasn't sure what steps to take next, I shared a look with Scarlett, who was running her fingers through Maeve's hair, trying to keep her calm, she nodded at me, encouraging me to question her.

"Maeve," I began carefully, my voice low and steady. "Can you tell us what's been going on? Why you've been pulling away babydoll?"

She hesitated, her fingers gripping the fabric of my shirt as she took a shaky breath. "It's... everything," she admitted finally, her voice trembling. "This time of year, the nightmares get worse. The memories... I can't escape them."

Her words sent a pang through my chest. I knew about her past—at least, the parts she'd been willing to share—but hearing her say it out loud, seeing the pain etched into her features, was almost too much to bear. I exchanged another glance with Scarlett, her expression mirroring my own resolve. We were going to help her through this, no matter what it took.