58
Amanda dropped her phone onto the kitchen counter, the screen still glowing with a half-written message. Her hand hovered near it for a moment, but she didn't reach for it again. She couldn't.
She was too tired.
Not the kind of tired a nap could fix — the deep, crawling kind. The kind that made her chest feel heavy and her thoughts blur at the edges.
It had been nine days since Ericka's surgery.
Nine days of shuffling schedules, managing inboxes, fielding production changes, checking in on the marketing team, smoothing over supply chain hiccups, and answering every board inquiry without letting on that the woman who usually ran the show was at home recovering.
Nine days of waking up before sunrise to answer emails and staying up past midnight to double-check campaign notes and doctor instructions.
Nine days of being strong.
She hadn't let herself stop once.
Until now.
Now, Amanda leaned forward, bracing both hands against the counter, and finally let out the breath she'd been holding all week. It was shaky and uneven, and her shoulders folded slightly, like the weight of everything was suddenly too much.
Behind her, a soft voice cut through the quiet.
"Amanda?"
Amanda blinked, turning slowly. Ericka stood in the hallway, her robe tied loosely around her waist, her hair falling messily around her face. She looked pale, but steady.
Amanda straightened, immediately falling back into her practiced rhythm. "Hey. You should be in bed. I was just finishing—"
"You're exhausted," Ericka said gently.
Amanda waved her off, even as her voice cracked. "I'm fine. I've just got a few things left to—"
"Amanda."
It wasn't sharp. It wasn't stern.
It was full of concern.
Amanda's throat tightened.
Ericka stepped closer. "You're taking care of everything. Of me. Of the company. But who's taking care of you?"
Amanda swallowed hard, her eyes burning.
Ericka reached for her hand, pulling her closer. "Come here."
"I still have to—"
"Come here," she repeated, more firmly this time.
Amanda didn't resist when Ericka led her down the hallway and into the bedroom. She didn't argue when Ericka gently pushed her to sit on the edge of the bed, then slowly guided her to lie down.
The moment Amanda's head hit the pillow, her body sagged beneath her.
She hadn't realized just how much she'd been holding up.
Ericka sat behind her, carefully arranging the blankets, then brushing Amanda's hair away from her face.
"I should be taking care of you," Amanda murmured, her voice rough.
"You already have," Ericka said softly. "More than anyone ever has."
She leaned down and pressed a kiss to Amanda's temple.
"Now it's your turn."
Amanda didn't respond, her body already going still.
Ericka settled in behind her, lifting Amanda's head gently into her lap. Then, with slow, soothing fingers, she began to massage her scalp — soft, deliberate strokes that melted the tension from Amanda's brow and temples.
Amanda let out a shaky breath, then another.
Her muscles loosened. Her chest began to rise and fall in a gentler rhythm.
"You don't have to be strong every second," Ericka whispered. "You don't have to carry everything."
Amanda's lips parted, like she wanted to answer — to argue — but the words never came.
Her breathing deepened.
Ericka kept massaging, fingertips moving in patient, comforting circles.
And Amanda... fell asleep.
Right there, in her lap. Completely surrendered for the first time in days.
Ericka leaned back against the headboard, eyes soft, one hand still tangled in Amanda's hair.
"I've got you now," she whispered into the quiet room.
And she did.