Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CLAIRE
The office is warm. There are soft lamps, plants reaching toward sunlight, and two leather chairs angled slightly toward each other… inviting.
Erik sits next to me on a loveseat, one knee touching mine, grounding me. My hand is in his, but loosely. He knows I need the option to pull away. He never holds too tight anymore.
Dr. Elena Alvarez sits across from us with her notebook resting in her lap. She’s in her late forties, with silver beginning to streak through her dark curls and eyes that feel like open doors instead of bright interrogations.
I’ve seen her three times in the hospital. Twice in her private office. This is my sixth session with her. And still, today feels like the first time I’m truly inside myself enough to speak.
Dr. Alvarez smiles gently. “Claire, would you like to start by telling me how this week has felt?”
I exhale slowly, the kind of breath that shakes. “Different,” I say quietly. “Not better. Not worse. Just… different.”
She nods, always patient. “Different can be progress.”
I rub my palms against my thighs. My body still feels unfamiliar, fuller curves and heavy breasts gradually returning to normal under medical care, with new soft curves and weeks of forced nutrition. I’m relearning myself and grieving myself at the same time.
Erik’s thumb lightly sweeps my knuckles. I swallow. “I… slept through the night.”
Dr. Alvarez’s smile warms. “That’s huge.”
“But I woke up panicking. I didn’t know where I was for a second. I thought I heard the pump again.”
She writes a note. “That’s your brain integrating traumatic memory into your present moment. It’s not failing you, it's trying to process what happened.”
A tremor moves through me. “I feel broken.”
She sets her pen down. Leans forward slightly. “Claire, what you’re experiencing is not brokenness. It’s what happens when a nervous system survives overwhelming stress. You adapted beautifully. You survived. And now we help your body remember it's safe.”
My eyes burn. “But I don’t feel safe when I’m alone.”
“Not yet,” she says gently. “But you won’t always feel this way.”
I nod, even though I don’t fully believe it yet. Erik squeezes my hand once, slow and reassuring.
Dr. Alvarez glances at him. “Erik, how has it been for you, supporting Claire this week?”
ERIK
I’ve never been scared of anything the way I’ve been scared of losing her. Bullets, knives, storms, enemies, easy.
Watching Claire fight nightmares she didn’t choose? Terrifying.
I clear my throat. “It’s been… hard. Not because of her. Because I can’t fix this.”
Dr. Alvarez nods softly. “Support doesn’t mean fixing. It means being present.”
I stare at my hands. They’re scarred. Strong. Built for protection. But these last few weeks, I’ve learned how useless strength feels against invisible wounds.
I look at Claire. “I just want her to feel like herself again.”
Claire’s eyes glisten. “I don’t even know who that is right now.”
“That’s okay,” Dr. Alvarez says. “Identity after trauma often shifts. You might discover new parts of yourself, some painful, some powerful. Healing isn’t about going back. It’s about going forward with the tools you’re learning.”
I swallow hard. I’d tear the world in half for her. But here, in this office, I’m learning that sometimes the bravest thing I can do is not tear anything apart at all.
DR. ALVAREZ
Claire’s hand hasn’t left Erik’s since the session started. It’s a good sign. Her breathing is steadier. Her eyes hold focus longer. She’s healing slowly. As all real healing must.
I speak softly. “Claire, would you be open to trying a grounding exercise together?”
She nods.
“Place your feet flat on the floor.” She does.
“Now close your eyes. Name one thing you can feel that is safe.”
She hesitates. Then: “Erik’s hand.”
“Good. Something else.”
“The carpet,” she whispers. “It’s soft.”
“And one more."
She breathes. “…My heartbeat.”
There it is. The first time she’s acknowledged her body as a place she can reside in, not a prison, not a machine, not an object.
I smile. “That’s beautiful progress.”
Claire opens her eyes slowly. Erik looks like he’s trying not to cry.
I continue, “We will keep working on grounding, body safety, emotional regulation, nervous system rewiring, and trauma processing. Claire, you’ve committed to weekly therapy and an emergency session option. That’s exactly what you need. You’re doing everything right.”
She blinks hard. “I don’t feel like I’m doing anything right.”
“That’s because your nervous system is still healing. But your actions, your willingness to talk, to show up, to feel? Those are the foundations of recovery.”
Erik kisses her temple softly. She leans into him like it’s instinct.
Then Claire whispers, “Do you think I’ll ever stop being scared?”
And I tell her the truth. “Yes. Not today. Not tomorrow. But there will come a moment, maybe months from now, when you’ll make breakfast or fold laundry or walk through your bookstore and suddenly realize…
you didn’t feel scared at all. That is how healing works.
Quietly. Steadily. And always in your time. ”
Tears spill down her cheeks, relief, not pain. Erik wipes them away with shaking fingers. I close my notebook.
“That’s enough for today. You did beautifully. Both of you.”
They don’t move right away. They sit together, breathing, hands intertwined. Two people were scarred. Two people fighting. Two people choosing healing, together.
ERIK
3 months later…
Hermann Park glows soft gold as I help Claire into the car. She moves with more confidence now, but she still pauses anytime she’s stepping into a new space or leaving one. Little pauses, small breaths to steady herself.
I’ve learned to pay attention to those. And three months after being hospitalized with intensive trauma therapy, she still requests the same thing every time: “Stay close to me tonight, Daddy.”
It hits my chest with a mix of ferocity and tenderness so deep I can barely stand it. She didn’t call me that before the kidnapping. Before I found her strapped to a table in that hellhole.
She began calling me "Daddy" in the hospital, whispering it through sedation and fever dreams, her voice fragile and reaching for something safe. Something solid. Something she trusted.
And when she said it the first time while awake… her eyes were full of tears.
“I feel safer when I call you that,” she said one day in therapy. “It helps my brain calm down.” Dr. Alvarez encouraged it. Said that trauma sometimes reorganizes trust in the body.
So, I became Daddy. And I cherish being her Daddy Erik.
“Always,” I tell her, brushing her cheek as I help her from the car. She gives a small, relieved sigh and interlaces her fingers with mine.
CLAIRE
The elevator opens to the warm glow of Bjorn's and Grace’s penthouse.
And the first thing I see is Grace, standing in the soft lamplight, her hair braided over one shoulder, wearing that pink maternity dress she loves. She looks radiant. Motherhood fits her like sunlight.
Her baby girl, Freya, is swaddled securely in her arms, head supported, blanket tucked around her tiny body.
Grace rocks her gently with a motion so natural I almost ache.
“Claire!” she whispers loudly. Her eyes fill instantly, with joy, relief, and affection, and I feel my throat tighten.
She had gone into labor not long after everyone returned from rescuing me, and needless to say, a stressful birth plus managing a newborn is a lot for any person.
Now she’s here, glowing and beautiful and whole, and I feel… safe. She doesn’t jostle the baby to hug me. Instead, she leans in and rests her forehead against mine.
“You look incredible. I’m so happy you’re here. And baby girl has been dying to meet her Auntie Claire.” My heart swells.
Freya stirs, tiny face scrunching. I whisper, “She’s perfect.”
Grace beams. “She’s a Halvorsen baby. Of course she is.”
Behind me, Erik’s arm comes around my waist, steady, grounding. I lean back into him automatically.
ERIK
Claire has no idea how beautiful she looks.
Softer. Curvier. Stronger in some places, tender in others. Her lavender dress contours her figure in a manner that causes my chest to tighten with emotion, not desire, not at this moment, but simply a profound sense of relief that she is here, alive, healing, and sharing quiet laughter with Grace.
Her quiet breast pump hums beneath her cardigan.
A sound no one else notices.
She’s worked so hard to reclaim that part of her body, what was done to her, transforming it back into something gentle, not something stolen.
And God help me, I’m proud of her beyond words.
LEIF
Walking in behind me is Mara. She sticks close but not touching. Hands clasped in front of her, eyes wide as they drift over everyone in the room. She’s shy. Nervous. The kind of girl who reads the exits and watches everyone’s hands. Just like Claire used to.
“Mara,” I whisper, leaning close, “take your time. You don’t have to talk to anyone you don’t want to.”
She nods once. And then her gaze lands on Claire. The way Claire leans into Erik’s side. The way Erik shields her without smothering her. The way Claire looks… alive.
Mara whispers, “She looks… happy. After everything.”
“She worked hard for that,” I murmur. “She fought for it. Erik fought with her.”
Mara’s voice trembles. “Do you think people like me can… have something like that?”
I look at her. Really look at her. Gentle soul. Wary eyes. The heart yearns for safety, yet it anticipates the possibility of danger.
“Yes,” I say. "Exactly, people like you.”
Her breath catches. Hope flickering in her eyes.
CLAIRE
Sven nearly tackles me with enthusiasm. “Claire! We’ve been working at the shop every day. Leander reorganized the entire romance section. A woman nearly screamed.”
Leander shoves him. “She reacted because you dropped a whole shelf on your foot.”
Sven shrugs. “Same difference.”
I laugh, really laugh, and it feels like stepping into sunlight after months underground.
Grace’s father smiles from the kitchen. “Everything at the store is running smoothly, sweetheart. We made sure of it.”
Emotion clogs my throat. “Thank you,” I whisper. “For everything.”
Beside me, Erik slides a hand along my spine, slow and reassuring. “She’s getting better,” he says quietly. “Day by day.”
But it’s when he leans close, his breath warm against my ear, and murmurs, “Proud of you, baby,” that my heart clenches.
I began calling him Daddy while I was in the hospital. He started calling me "baby" again about a month ago. Not the baby that Dr. Rhys tried to turn me into.
But the baby I choose to be. For him. Safe. Loved. Protected.
ERIK
Dinner is a mess, but a good kind of chaos. Stellan and Rurik arguing about whether Viking ancestors would approve of air fryers.
Ivar is teaching Sven how to hold a baby.
Grace’s dad is telling Bjorn that he is not feeding Freya enough.
Through it all, Claire stays in my lap, her choice, her head tucked under my jaw and her fingers drawing lazy shapes on my forearm.
Every now and then she whispers, “Daddy, it’s loud.
Daddy, can we move to that corner? Daddy, stay with me. ”
And I do. Always. But the best moment of the night happens without a word. Grace lifts Freya up, showing her off to the room. Freya coos. Everyone melts. And Claire goes still against me.
She tilts her head, her voice whisper-soft. “Daddy… I think I still want a baby one day.”
Time stops. I turn her face to me, gently. “Then we talk about it together. When you’re ready. When you want it. Not because of what they did. Only because you want it.”
Her eyes fill. “I do,” she whispers. “I really do.” And I hold her tighter.
LEIF
From across the room, Mara watches them, Erik with Claire held gently in his lap, Claire leaning into him like she trusts him with every breath.
Mara murmurs, “I’d like that… someday.”
“What’s that, little bunny?” I ask softly. She startles at the nickname but doesn’t tell me to stop.
She whispers, “Someone who keeps me safe.”
I smile.
“I can handle that." Her breath shivers as she leans a little closer to me, and my heart feels like it’s going to explode.
CLAIRE
Later, after dessert, after feeling normal for the first time in forever… I press my lips to Erik’s neck and whisper, “Daddy… thank you for tonight.”
His arms tighten around me. “I’d do anything for you. Anything.”
And for the first time since the nightmare, I believe nothing can touch me as long as I’m in his arms.