I stepped around the corner and walked toward her.
The corridor lights cast long, jagged shadows across the polished floor, turning the space into something heavier, almost sacred in its emptiness. Sherry leaned against the wall like it was the only thing keeping her upright, arms wrapped tight around herself, shoulders trembling with the quiet exhaustion of someone who had finally stopped pretending she could hold everything together.
"Bram."
I pulled her into me without a word. She buried her face in my chest, and the dam broke. Everything she'd been holding back came rushing out in hot, shuddering tears that soaked through my shirt. The last golden light of the day bled through the high windows, painting the corridor in dying fire and amber as she clung to me.
"I'm sorry," she whispered against my chest. It wasn't for me. "I'm so sorry."
I held her tighter and stayed silent. Some grief simply needed to be felt in full—no words, no fixing, just presence.
