The room was dark, except for the blue glow of the moon slipping through the curtains.
Ami was curled on the edge of her bed, hoodie still on, her face streaked with dried tears. Her chest felt hollow — like something was cracked open but still didn't make sense.
She hadn't even turned on the lights when she got home. She just collapsed into her mattress, her mind replaying everything.
The party.The touches.Leo's car.Her own voice asking, "What's wrong with me?"
And that question kept echoing. Loud. Unrelenting.
Suddenly, her bedroom door creaked open.
"Ami?" came a soft voice.
It was Sandra, her stepmother — not by blood, but by love. The woman who took her in when her parents died, who raised her like she was her own. She flicked on the hallway light, revealing the worry on her face.
"Sweetheart, what happened?"
Ami didn't answer. She just turned, and with that one look — Sandra knew.
She walked in and sat beside her, not pushing for words, just wrapping her arms around the girl who never asked for too much, who always tried to be strong.
And that was it.
That one hug. It shattered her.
"I'm so confused," Ami sobbed into Sandra's shoulder. "I don't know who I am anymore… I felt things I wasn't supposed to feel. I let them touch me. I let it go too far. I… I didn't stop it. Not fast enough."
Sandra stroked her back gently.
"It's okay to feel. It's okay to be curious. You're not broken for wanting connection."
Ami's breathing slowed, but the tears kept coming.
"I'm scared," she whispered. "What if this is who I am? What if I never feel normal again?"
Sandra paused, her own heart heavy.
"Then we figure it out together," she said softly. "No labels. No shame. Just love, and truth, and time."
The two sat like that, in silence, for what felt like hours.
And for the first time in a long time, Ami felt safe. Not judged. Not directed. Just… seen.