He winced, though he knew she was naming rather than blaming his instincts. “I thought I was protecting us,” he said softly. “From chaos. From shame.” The words sounded like jars from his mother’s cabinet, opened carefully. “It felt like protection,” Evelyn admitted. “Sometimes. Other times, it felt like disappearing into something I wasn’t.”
“I don’t know how to stop doing this,” he said, voice small. Evelyn took his hand. “Maybe we don’t have to stop all at once,” she replied. “We learn. We get help.” The word help didn’t bounce off the walls; it landed and stayed. He nodded once, as if granting himself permission for something.