After receiving word from a nurse that the doctors have finished treating Amanda, Olivia reluctantly leaves Noah in Fin's care, both men sitting silently, equally haunted by their thoughts.
Olivia stands restlessly outside Amanda's room, arms crossed tightly over her chest, eyes locked on the door. The hallway is eerily quiet compared to the pounding in Olivia's head.
The door eases open, and Dr. Hayes steps out, clipboard in hand, his face drawn but calm. Olivia straightens immediately.
"How is she?" she asks, her voice a whisper, sharpened with worry.
Dr. Hayes nods. "We've stabilized her. Vitals are strong. That's a good sign."
Olivia's arms tighten around herself. "But she's still unconscious?"
"She is," he says gently. "Her body's been through significant trauma. Multiple contusions, fractured ribs, facial fractures. We also found evidence of internal bruising, some tearing—nothing life-threatening, but painful. Her breathing is shallow, but steady. We're monitoring her oxygen closely."
Olivia nods slowly, her eyes brimming with unshed tears.
"There's no sign of a brain injury, which is good," Dr. Hayes continues. "We'll know more when she's fully conscious, but for now, rest is the best thing for her. We're keeping her as comfortable as possible."
Olivia's voice cracks with emotion. "Can I go in?"
"Of course," Dr. Hayes replies, stepping aside.
Inside the room, Amanda lies motionless, her chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm.
Olivia swallows the lump in her throat and approaches quietly, brushing a stray lock of hair from Amanda's forehead.
"I'm right here," she whispers, settling into the chair beside the bed. "You're safe now. Noah's safe. You did it. Just… come back when you can, okay?"
The monitor beeps steadily.
At first, there is only darkness. Not the cold, empty kind, but something softer. Like being underwater. Then comes sound. A distant hum, something she almost recognizes. The lilt of a soft voice.
Amanda drifts toward it.
Then, pain.
A dull but insistent pressure blooms behind her eyes. Beeping. Voices, close but muddled.
Amanda's eyelids flutter, then lift slowly. Blinding white light. Her breath hitches. Her chest feels heavy. Something tugs at her arm.
Her eyes slam shut. Panic.
She tries to move, but her body feels like lead. Her throat is raw, her breath shallow and fast.
Then a voice floats in, muffled and far away, but unmistakable.
"You're safe now… just come back to me."
Amanda leans toward the sound and attempts to pry her eyes open.
There's a shadow. Someone beside her. Close. Maybe too close.
"Hey, Amanda, it's okay, it's me," the voice utters, firm yet breaking at the same time.
Olivia.
Amanda blinks, her heart thudding wildly. She can't speak. Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out except a rasping, panicked wheeze.
"Shh," Olivia says quickly. "It's okay. You're safe. You're in the hospital. You're okay."
Everything is blurry with fuzzy edges. Her head feels like it's full of static, and her body screams in protest at the smallest shift.
Amanda uses all the energy she can muster to whisper one word. "Liv…"
Her voice cracks on the word, and she feels the sting of tears already at the corners of her eyes.
Olivia leans in, her hands outstretched instinctively. But the moment Amanda feels the slightest movement from Olivia, her body stiffens, as if every nerve is reminding her of the trauma, the memories swimming in the back of her mind. The pain, the sensitivity, the memories, all of it colliding in a sharp, burning discomfort.
"No," Amanda gasps, her voice barely audible.
Olivia freezes and immediately withdraws her hands, clasping them in front of her.
"Okay," Olivia responds immediately, calmly. "It's okay. I'm sorry."
Amanda's fingers twitch, her chest tight with the effort of holding it all together. She wants to reach out to Olivia, needing the connection to ground her, but the thought of Olivia's hand on her skin, of being touched… her body recoils before her mind can catch up.
Olivia's heart aches at the look on Amanda's face. "It's okay," she repeats. "I won't touch you right now. But I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
Amanda's gaze flickers to Olivia again. She wants to reach out, longing for something familiar, something safe, but it's too much. She draws in a shallow breath, closing her eyes tightly, her chest heaving with the effort to calm her frayed nerves.
"Please…" Amanda whispers, barely able to hear herself over the rush of blood in her ears. She can't look at Olivia. "I…" The words stick in her throat like shards of glass.
Olivia shifts slowly, deliberately, careful not to crowd her. She doesn't reach out to Amanda again but gently rests her hands on the railing of the bed, staying close but not touching. Her fingers flex slightly with the instinct to offer comfort, to close the distance, but she holds herself back, honoring the space Amanda needs.
"It's okay, 'Manda," Olivia hums, her voice full of quiet understanding. "You don't have to explain anything, honey. And you don't have to be okay. Not yet. Just breathe. I'm here."
Amanda's eyes flick up to meet Olivia's before darting away. She wants to lean into Olivia, to feel her arms wrapped around her, to sink into the safety of that warmth, but just the thought of being touched makes her chest tighten.
Tears well up in her eyes. Her body, broken and bruised, betraying her at every turn.
"I'm sorry," Amanda whispers, tears now making their way down her cheeks.
Olivia's expression softens impossibly further.
"You don't have to apologize," Olivia reassures her gently, emotion clinging to her voice. "Just take your time."
Slowly, hesitantly, Amanda's fingers tremble as they reach out to graze Olivia's wrist, just the briefest touch, like she's not sure if it'll hurt, if it'll be too much.
Olivia's breath stills at the contact, but she doesn't pull away. She lets Amanda's fingers rest against her skin for a moment. The touch is fragile, a tentative bridge between what Amanda needs and what her body can handle right now.
Amanda's lips part again, and the sobs she's been holding back finally break free. They come quietly, but unbearably heavy. The weight of it all spills over.
Olivia hesitantly lifts one of her hands and brushes a finger ever so lightly across the back of Amanda's hand. Amanda's body tenses again, but this time she doesn't pull away.
Feeling herself lean slightly closer to Olivia, Amanda lets herself feel it, just the slightest touch, the barest comfort.
But the peace doesn't last long. There's a soft knock on the door, and a voice comes through the crack before anyone has a chance to respond.
"Mrs. Rollins? Can I come in?"
Amanda's eyes snap up, and her heart thuds in her chest. She straightens instinctively, her body tensing like a switch has been flipped, jolting her into a painful awareness of her body's limitations. The comfort of the moment vanishes instantly.
Olivia's eyes move to the door and then back to Amanda.
"It's okay," Olivia says gently, her voice calm but alert. "It's just the doctor."
The door opens slowly, and a tall man in scrubs steps through the doorway. His face is serious but kind. He nods briefly at Olivia before turning his attention to Amanda.
"Mrs. Rollins," he begins, his tone professional but gentle. "I'm Dr. Hayes. How are you feeling?"
Amanda's heart pounds harder. She tries to focus on the words, but everything feels off. His presence, his voice… it's too much. She forces herself to look at him, but her vision blurs. She raises her hand to wipe the tears from her eyes, but the pain flares, sharp and immediate.
The doctor's voice continues, but she can't hold onto it.
"I… I'm sorry," Amanda whispers, her voice cracking, hands gripping the blanket.
Dr. Hayes pauses, and his expression softens.
"No need to apologize, Mrs. Rollins," Dr. Hayes says compassionately. "I'm glad to see you're awake. I'm just here to check in and to talk to you about your injuries, if you're up for it."
Amanda tries to swallow, but the dryness in her throat makes it difficult. She glances over at Olivia, seeking reassurance. Olivia returns the eye contact and gives Amanda a quiet nod, but Amanda can't bring herself to speak again just yet. The doctor is here, and the words are coming, whether she is ready for them or not.
Amanda shifts slightly on the bed but stops immediately as the soreness rolls through her body.
"Mrs. Rollins, your nose and your right eye socket are both broken, as well as two of the ribs on your right side. The fractures will take time to heal. We're giving you medication for the pain, but I want you to be aware that it may take a while before you start to feel real relief."
Amanda feels the pain in every place he names, each injury flaring to life under his words. Her ribs throb. Her face aches. She feels the tender spots where her skin feels raw. She tries to focus on his voice, tries to hear the words as a detached thing, just medical information. But they're becoming more real with every injury he lists, the memory of how each happened coming back in flashes she isn't ready to deal with.
Dr. Hayes shifts his stance, eyes dropping to the clipboard in his hands. "There are abrasions and bruises on your thighs, abdomen, and arms. Those areas will likely be the most tender, and you'll feel discomfort when you move. We're applying ointments and using ice to reduce the swelling, but it will take time. As for your internal injuries…"
Amanda's body stiffens. Heat rises in her chest. Her breath catches, and she can already feel the sting—sharp and invasive—where the more intimate injuries still burn. Her fists clench beneath the blanket, fingers curling tight around the fabric as she tries to stay grounded, to not spiral.
Dr. Hayes continues, slowly, "There's internal bruising around the pelvic area, likely from blunt force trauma. There's also some minor tearing, but nothing requiring suturing. We'll monitor it closely to make sure there's no further damage. In terms of recovery, you'll need to rest for several weeks—no strenuous activity and keep your movements light. We've prescribed medication to help with both the pain and the swelling."
Amanda's heart races. She doesn't want to hear this. She already knows. Her body remembers. The memories crash over her like waves, dragging her under. Being violated. The helplessness. The terror. The clinical language feels like another violation, each word stripping her bare.
She can't stop her body's reaction. Her breath hitches. Her chest tightens. She pulls away slightly, as if distance might dull the sharpness of what's being said. Her body goes rigid, bracing against the invisible blow of memory and meaning.
Dr. Hayes notices Amanda's reaction and his voice softens. "Mrs. Rollins, I understand this is difficult to hear. We don't have to go over anything else right now if you're not ready. We can talk more later, when you're feeling stronger."
But it isn't just the details she's avoiding. It's the truth of it. The full, crushing truth of what happened. What she lived through. What was done to her. Hearing it laid out clinically—neatly packaged into bullet points and diagnoses, makes it too real. Too raw.
Amanda swallows hard. She tries to even out her breathing, but her voice splinters when she finally speaks. "I… I need to stop."
Dr. Hayes nods, his expression softening further. "I understand, Mrs. Rollins. We can wait until you're ready. Just know that we're here to support you however we can. Right now, your priority is your healing. And when you're ready to talk more, we'll be here."
His words linger in the air. They're meant to comfort, but they only underline the reality she's not ready to face. Not yet.
Olivia, who's been silently watching, steps closer. Her hand hovers for a beat before her fingertips settle gently on Amanda's arm, barely making contact but offering a quiet, grounding touch.
"It's okay, honey," Olivia whispers. "We'll take this one step at a time, okay?"
Amanda nods stiffly. Her voice is gone again, buried beneath the pain and the weight of memory. She wants to run, to crawl away from the moment, from the pain, from the truth. But there's nowhere to go. For now, she clings to Olivia's presence, the steadiness of her voice, the strength Amanda can borrow until her own returns.
Amanda lies back against the pillows, her body feeling heavy with pain, every inch of her skin feeling too sensitive, too aware of the world around her and yet she feels untethered… floating between exhaustion and the crushing weight of her own thoughts.
"Liv…" Amanda's voice cracks, barely above a whisper. She forces herself to speak, her heart heavy. "Have you called him?"
Olivia looks at her, concern washing over her features. "I did," she says softly. "I told him... what happened. He's leaving the kids with his mom and driving back now."
Amanda swallows hard, her throat tight with guilt.
"I can't... I can't see him yet," she admits, her voice thick with emotion.
"I can't even let you touch me…" Amanda says, her voice trembling as she turns away, her eyes fluttering closed. "I can't…"
Olivia shifts gently, her hands hovering near Amanda, close but not quite touching. She doesn't push, doesn't invade the space Amanda needs. Her voice is soft, filled with understanding. "Amanda, you don't have to apologize for this. You don't have to be okay right now. It's okay not to be okay. And we're going to move at whatever pace you need, okay? There's no timetable here."
Amanda turns her face toward Olivia, the guilt tightening in her chest like a vice.
"I don't know how to…" Amanda tries to speak, but her voice cracks, the words catching in her throat. "How do I look at him and not feel like I'm... ruining everything?"
Olivia's heart twists. She swallows hard, pushing down the lump rising in her throat, struggling to keep her own emotions in check at her friend's pain. "You're still the person he married, Amanda. You're still the woman he loves. This… this doesn't change who you are."
Amanda closes her eyes, the pain rising, cresting. She hears the truth in Olivia's words, but it feels distant.
"You don't have to face everything at once," Olivia says gently. "Carisi will understand. He loves you, and he'll be there when you're ready. And until then, I'm right here. You're not alone."
Amanda nods weakly, her voice gone. The tears keep falling, her body exhausted—physically, emotionally, to her core. But she leans into the only thing she has the strength for right now: the quiet, constant comfort of knowing that Olivia won't leave her.
The elevator doors slide open with a muted ding, and Sonny Carisi steps out onto the hospital floor, looking frazzled and tense, like he hasn't taken a full breath since he got the call. His tie hangs loose around his neck, shirt wrinkled, jacket gripped in one hand. His face is pale, jaw tight, eyes scanning the hallway with barely contained desperation until they land on Olivia waiting just outside Amanda's door.
"Liv," he breathes, rushing toward her.
Olivia pushes off the wall and meets him halfway, placing a hand gently against his chest to stop him from going any farther. "Hey. Hey, Carisi wait."
He freezes, trying to read her face, eyes darting to the door behind her. "Is she awake?" His voice cracks. "Can I see her?"
Olivia hesitates, her expression softening. "She's awake," she says carefully. "But... she's not ready."
The words hit him like a gut punch. Carisi's shoulders slump, his eyes closing for a moment as he tries to steady himself.
"Come here," Olivia says gently, looping her hand through his elbow and guiding him away from the door, just a few feet down the hall.
Carisi lets her lead him, his gaze lingering on Amanda's room until they stop. Then he turns to Olivia, the pain written all over his face.
"She asked about you," Olivia starts softly. "She's just... she's still in shock. She's in pain. Everything is still too raw. She's not shutting you out, Sonny. She's just not ready."
Carisi nods several times, swallowing hard. "Okay. Right. Right, I get it. Of course."
But he stays right where he is, unmoving, his eyes glassy as he stares at the floor.
Olivia reaches out and squeezes his arm. "She's going to get through this, Carisi. She's strong. But right now, she needs... time."
Carisi lets out a shaky breath and leans back against the wall, dragging a hand through his hair. "Will you just... tell her that I love her?" he says, his voice cracking. "That I'm here whenever she's ready?"
"I will," Olivia says gently. "She already knows. But I will."
They stand there in silence for a moment, the weight of everything unspoken pressing in.
"I'll stay in touch," Olivia adds. "She's not ready now, but maybe in a few days... if she's feeling up for it."
Carisi nods again, eyes flicking toward Amanda's door, like maybe if he stares hard enough, it'll open. Then he looks back at Olivia, his voice low, rough with emotion.
"Thank you," he says quietly. "For being here. For staying with her. For... not letting her go through this alone."
Olivia shakes her head softly. "You don't have to thank me."
Carisi pauses, then looks at Olivia again—really looks at her. Her face is composed, but he sees the strain in her jaw, the faint red in her eyes, the way her shoulders never really drop.
"You said Noah's with Fin?" he asks softly. "How is he?"
Olivia sighs, her voice a little hoarse. "He's... not great. Fin's been sitting with him most of the day. Noah won't leave the hospital. I need to get him to go home for the night, but... he's scared. Scared to leave her. Scared to leave me."
Carisi nods, his face softening even more. "Of course he is. I'm so sorry, Liv."
"Obviously I can't send him back to our apartment. Not yet," Olivia says, her voice tight.
Carisi nods. "Maybe I can talk to him. Between Fin and I, we'll figure it out. We'll take care of him, Liv. I promise."
Olivia's throat tightens as emotion wells again. "Thank you, Carisi."
He doesn't answer right away. Instead, he reaches out and pulls her into a hug—tight, grounding, familiar. Olivia doesn't resist. She lets herself lean into it for a moment, letting the weight of everything soften just slightly.
"We're gonna get through this," he murmurs against her hair. "All of us."
Olivia closes her eyes, letting the words settle. For a moment, she almost believes them.
Amanda's eyelids flutter, her body exhausted beyond measure. The weight of everything—the physical pain, the emotional toll, presses down on her like a crushing wave. Despite herself, she slips into a fitful sleep, the kind where nightmares bleed into broken memories she can't quite piece together.
Her body seems to rest, but her mind refuses to quiet. Flashes of darkness, of bruises, of rough hands haunt her dreams. She stirs restlessly, breath shallow and erratic. Even in sleep, the pain gnaws at her, dragging her from one moment of restless torment to the next.
When Amanda finally wakes, it's not with the comfort of rest. Her body screams in agony, pain exploding in sharp, hot waves. She gasps, eyes flying open, wide with shock and disorientation. Her chest tightens, each breath feeling like it's too much.
She tries to shift, but movement is impossible. The bruises, the soreness, the tender spots along her ribs make their presence known with brutal clarity. And worse than all of that is the ache in places too raw to face.
A cry of pain escapes her lips before she can stop it. Her hands clutch at the sheets, her body trembling violently.
"Olivia…" she gasps, her voice strained and thick with panic. "Hurts…" Her words crumble as another wave of pain crashes through her.
Olivia is at her side in an instant, heart racing. She'd been sitting close, watching Amanda closely, waiting for the moment she might wake. But seeing her like this, in agony, is a knife to Olivia's chest.
"Amanda, hey... It's okay. I'm right here," she says, her hands hovering near Amanda, desperate to help. "You're safe, sweetheart."
"Aaah…" Amanda cries, squeezing her eyes shut. Tears stream down her face as pain radiates from every inch of her body. "Liv…"
Olivia quickly presses the call button, her voice urgent but calm. "I'm getting help, okay? Just hold on. You're going to be okay. I'm here." She speaks steadily, trying to break through the chaos.
Amanda's breath comes in quick, ragged gasps. "Liv... I can't..." Her hands fumble against the sheets, the bed rail, like she's trying to hold herself together.
"I know, I know," Olivia whispers. "You don't have to. Just breathe with me, okay? Help is coming."
Each second stretches, heavy and unbearable. Olivia keeps her hands close, just inches from Amanda's, silently offering every ounce of strength she has without forcing contact.
The door opens. A nurse enters, eyes scanning Amanda's twisted expression and trembling body. She moves without hesitation.
"Okay, Amanda," she says gently, adjusting the IV drip. "I see you're in pain. We're going to get that under control, okay?"
Amanda's tears keep falling. Her body shakes, breath unsteady. She nods faintly, but she's too overwhelmed to speak.
"Just breathe, Amanda," Olivia whispers again, voice low and steady, her eyes never leaving her friend. "Just a few more minutes. It'll be over soon."
The nurse checks the IV, then turns to Olivia. "I'm administering a painkiller now. She should feel some relief soon. You're doing great, Amanda. Just keep breathing."
Amanda doesn't respond. The nurse's voice feels far away. Warmth starts to spread through her veins as the medication flows in, but the pain doesn't vanish, just dulls slightly. Her mind stays fragmented, frayed at the edges, too raw to settle.
"I'm here," Olivia says softly, inching her hand closer to Amanda's. "I've got you. You're not alone."
Amanda turns her head slightly, eyes meeting Olivia's through a haze of tears and exhaustion.
The nurse finishes her task, giving Olivia a small nod. "It'll take a little time, but she'll feel better soon. Call me if you need anything."
She slips out quietly, leaving the room in dim silence.
Olivia stays by Amanda's side, watching her breath even out, still shallow, but no longer gasping. She gently brushes a loose strand of hair from Amanda's forehead, still careful not to press, not to cross the invisible boundary Amanda isn't ready to break.
"Just sleep, Amanda," Olivia whispers, her voice full of gentle resolve. "We'll get through this."
Amanda doesn't speak, but her trembling eases—just a little. Her breath, though still uneven, begins to slow, and her eyes slip closed. And then, almost imperceptibly, her hand—tight and white-knuckled around the edge of the sheet—unclenches.
Olivia sees it and wills her own tight muscles to loosen as she draws in a deep breath and slumps back into her chair. Olivia is used to handling trauma, but watching Amanda suffer like this is a different kind of helplessness. A sharper, more intimate ache that lives in Olivia's chest and coils tightly around her ribs. She would give anything to take the pain away, to carry it herself. But all she can do is sit here. And feel helpless.
Slowly, Amanda begins to stir, every movement a quiet battle against pain. The painkiller dulls the sharpest edges, but the heaviness in her chest, the raw ache of what she's endured, lingers, unmoved. Her body reminds her of every moment, every violation. But something else rises through the fog, sharper than the pain.
Noah.
Her throat burns as she forces out the name. "Noah…" It's barely a whisper, but it slices through the silence.
Her hand reaches blindly toward Olivia, breaking through her usual hesitation around touch, driven only by frantic desperation. "Liv… is he okay? Is he… hurt?"
Olivia, who's been sitting quietly beside Amanda, instantly leans forward, catching Amanda's hand with both of hers. The question lands like a punch. She fights to keep the tremor out of her voice, even as the lump in her throat threatens to choke her.
"He's okay," Olivia says, voice soft but urgent. "Noah's fine, Amanda. He wasn't hurt. He's scared, but he wasn't hurt."
Amanda exhales in a shaky rush, eyes slipping shut for a moment. Relief floods her system, loosening something in her chest. But it's not enough. A dark thought claws its way forward.
Amanda looks at Olivia, eyes locking with hers. "What… what did he hear?"
The question hits Olivia like a punch to the gut. Tears burn behind her eyes as she struggles to respond, guilt and sorrow swirling inside her. Noah's voice echoes in her memory, his fear, his confusion.
Olivia steps closer, gently cradling Amanda's hand between both of hers. One hand holds it steady while the other softly rubs over the back of it in slow, soothing strokes.
Olivia wets her lips, trying to find the right words—words that won't hurt more than they have to. "He heard you cry out. He heard… that you were in pain."
Amanda's face twists in silent anguish, her breath hitching as Olivia's words sink in. Some part of her already knew. She knew Noah had been nearby, had heard at least some of it. But hearing it spoken aloud is something else—something gutting.
"I tried to be quiet," Amanda whispers, her voice trembling. "I didn't want him to hear… I didn't want him to know."
"You protected him," Olivia says, her voice gentle but firm. "You kept him safe. That's what matters. You couldn't stop what happened—but you kept him from being hurt."
Amanda looks away, misplaced shame bleeding into her voice. "So he knows?"
Olivia closes her eyes, the emotion swelling too fast, too strong. She wants to lie, to give Amanda the reassurance she's seeking, but she knows she can't. Not about this. Her eyes sting. "Yes," she whispers.
Amanda nods shakily, withdrawing her hand from Olivia's. She pulls the blanket up to her shoulders, maybe in a silent attempt to disappear. Her face crumples under the weight of shame. It burns in her chest—humiliation not just for what was done to her, but for the fact that her nephew knows what was done to her body.
Her eyes stare at the foot of the bed, lost in thought.
Silence falls. Olivia stays close, wringing her hands, searching for the right thing to say—some words to make this hurt less. But there aren't any.
Then Amanda speaks, her voice so soft it barely reaches. "What… what did he see?"
Olivia hesitates. She doesn't want to say it—not because Amanda can't handle it, but because she shouldn't have to. Olivia doesn't want to put more pictures in Amanda's head, but she deserves answers to all her questions.
Olivia nods slowly, her voice thick. "He didn't see them… he didn't see the… assault. He stayed hidden in the kitchen, just like you told him…"
"I…" Olivia's voice falters. "What you did for him, Amanda…"
Olivia swallows hard, blinking against the sting behind her eyes. She knows it's not the time. She knows Amanda is barely hanging on. But she's overcome in this moment. The image of Amanda stepping in front of Noah, putting herself between him and that nightmare, fractures something deep in Olivia's chest. Her jaw tightens, and she tries to breathe through it, but the guilt is suffocating. That it was Amanda who endured the worst of it… that it was Amanda who paid the price.
"I should've been there," Olivia whispers, the words slipping out before she can stop them. "You shouldn't have had to protect him like that. That should've been me."
Her voice cracks, and for a second, she forgets to keep the emotion in check.
Amanda hears the break in Olivia's voice and feels the grief thick in the air. She wants to offer Olivia some comfort but doesn't have the strength.
"Liv, what did… what did he see… after?"
Olivia swallows hard. "He came out of the kitchen after they were gone. He saw you… lying there. Unconscious. You were in your bra and underwear. He thought… he thought you were dead."
Amanda's face crumples, and she wipes her tears on the sheet. The contact causes her pain, but she prefers it to the grief.
Olivia wants to take Amanda's hand again, but it's tucked away.
Olivia continues, her voice breaking. "He didn't know what to do. He was scared to touch you—he thought he might hurt you. So he pulled a blanket from the couch and… he covered you."
Amanda slowly drops her hand from her face, defeated. "He… he saw me like that?" Her voice is barely audible, broken and raw.
Olivia nods, unable to stop the tears running down her cheeks. "He saw someone he loves, hurt. That's it, honey. He just wanted to help. He wanted to make you warm. Make you safe again." Her voice breaks on the last word.
Amanda lets out a soft, broken sob and turns her face away. The thought of Noah—sweet, sensitive Noah—finding her like that, brutalized and exposed...
Olivia aches to reach out to her but holds back.
"I tried to be quiet," she whispers again, her voice muffled by the tears. "I didn't want to scare him. I didn't want him to…"
"I know," Olivia says quietly, earnestly. "I know."
They sit in silence. Amanda cries quietly, and Olivia watches, her chest tight, helpless to do anything but be there.
"I remember the blanket," Amanda whispers distantly. "It was warm. I think… I think I felt that."
Olivia's throat tightens. "He wanted to protect you," she says softly. "Like you protected him."
Amanda shifts slightly, wincing as pain cuts through her again. Olivia instinctively leans closer—but doesn't touch her. She just stays, close enough to be felt.
Amanda notices. Her eyes flicker toward Olivia's hands. Her own hands fidget beneath the blanket. She had reached out for Olivia earlier out of instinct, a desperation to know that Noah was okay. But now she hesitates again. She starts to reach out but her fingers stall in midair before pulling back.
"I want… I want to feel okay being touched," she whispers shamefully. "But it's like my body… reacts. Like it remembers faster than I can."
Olivia doesn't speak right away, choosing her words carefully.
"You don't have to force it," she says. "Not with me. Not with Sonny. Not with anyone. Your body's just trying to keep you safe right now. That's not a weakness."
Amanda's eyes flood again, and this time the tears fall freely. "I'm so tired, Liv," she whispers.
Olivia nods, her own heart fracturing. "I know."
She reaches forward, slowly, carefully. Her pinky brushes against Amanda's under the blanket, just the lightest contact. Something Amanda can pull away from if it feels wrong.
Amanda doesn't pull away.
She doesn't lean in either—but the absence of recoil is something. A beginning.
"You don't have to be okay yet," Olivia whispers. "You just have to rest. I'll be right here."
Amanda nods, just barely, her eyes fluttering closed, her breathing shallow but steady. And as sleep begins to claim her again, her fist—still clutching the edge of the blanket—unclenches, just slightly.
Olivia sees it. And for the first time in hours, something inside her eases. Amanda is still in pain—wounded, grieving, raw—but that tiny movement feels like hope.
She stays seated, quietly watching her friend drift into uneasy sleep. One hand close. Her presence steady.
Olivia sits slouched in the chair beside Amanda, her body heavy with exhaustion, but her eyes never leave her friend. She hasn't left. Not while Amanda's drifted in and out, not while time has crawled forward in aching silence.
Amanda stirs—a subtle shift beneath the blanket, a sharp inhale—and Olivia straightens instantly.
"Amanda?" she says softly, leaning in.
Amanda's eyelids flutter, her gaze slow to focus. She looks clearer this time, more present, though her face is still tight with pain. She looks at Olivia and lets out a shaky breath.
"How long...?" Amanda rasps.
"Just a little while," Olivia says gently, brushing a loose strand of hair from Amanda's face but still careful not to touch her skin. "You've been in and out."
Amanda nods faintly. It's as if her body keeps dragging her back under no matter how hard she fights it. Then her brow furrows, remembering something she's been trying to hold onto through the fog.
"Noah," she whispers. "Can I... can I see him?"
Olivia's heart clenches. "Are you sure?"
Amanda swallows, her throat dry. "I need to. I need to see with my own eyes that he's okay. That he's safe."
Olivia hesitates for just a moment, then nods softly. "Okay. He's here. I'll bring him in, just for a few minutes. He's been asking about you."
She stands and disappears through the door.
Amanda's body screams in pain as she attempts to sit up straighter, smoothing her hands over her hair.
A few minutes later, the door eases open with a soft creak.
Amanda turns her head toward the sound, her breath catching even before she sees him. The hallway light frames his silhouette, tall, but unsure, like he doesn't quite know how to exist in his body. His shoulders are hunched, hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatshirt.
Noah steps inside hesitantly, barely lifting his gaze from the floor.
Olivia stands in the doorway, her hand gently brushing his back for reassurance, but she doesn't speak. This part is theirs.
Amanda's heart pounds against her sore ribs. She feels every bruise, every tear and scrape that has made her body feel like it's no longer hers. But when her eyes find Noah—his pale face, tight mouth, the way he just stands there like he's afraid to breathe—nothing else matters.
"Hey, baby," she says softly, voice hoarse but warm.
Noah glances up, eyes shining but uncertain. "Hi."
He hovers a few steps away from the bed, frozen in place.
Amanda sees it written all over him—the guilt, the fear, the question: Am I even allowed to look at you?
"You can come closer," she offers gently, her voice shaking just a little. "If you want."
He takes one slow step, then another, but his arms are wrapped tightly around his chest, as if they're the only thing keeping him together.
Amanda swallows hard. Her hands twitch against the blanket, aching with the need to reach for him. But her body still screams don't touch. Every cell, every nerve raw and flinching. Still remembering. But this is Noah. This boy who's been in her life since he was a toddler, who calls her Aunt Amanda, who used to hold her pinky when he was scared.
"I'm okay," she says softly, trying for a smile. "I'm gonna be okay."
"I should've done something," he blurts out suddenly, his voice rising before he can stop it. "I just sat there. I heard them. I knew what was happening and I didn't—"
"Stop," Amanda says gently, her voice breaking but steady.
Noah's mouth snaps shut, shame flooding his eyes.
"Come here, baby," she says, lifting one trembling hand.
He doesn't move. "But… does it hurt? If I touch you?"
Amanda nods honestly. "Yeah," she whispers. "It does."
Noah's shoulders drop. He starts to step back.
"But I still want to," Amanda adds quickly.
Noah hesitates, then moves to the chair beside her bed. Slowly, cautiously, he lowers himself into it. Amanda extends her hand toward him, her fingers hovering an inch from his. Every nerve in her body screams at her to pull away, to retreat, but she doesn't.
She places her hand in his. Her stomach clenches. Her skin prickles. But she doesn't flinch because Noah is looking at her like the air has just returned to his lungs.
"I'm sorry, Aunt Amanda," he whispers.
"Shh," Amanda soothes, her voice splintering. "You did nothing wrong, baby."
His fingers tighten around hers just slightly. She feels his hand shaking.
Tears slide down Amanda's cheeks, hot and unfiltered, but she doesn't wipe them away. She doesn't want to let go of Noah's hand because he's trembling, his shoulders hunched like he's bracing for something terrible. Like maybe she'll change her mind.
Amanda's thoughts are a mess of broken images, flashes of pain, flickers of things she's not ready to remember. But she can't let Noah carry that weight. Not him.
So she gives him what she can.
"I'm still me," she says softly. "I might be... different for a while. But I'm coming back. I promise."
Noah's lips tremble, and he nods hard, eyes never leaving hers.
"You don't have to fix anything, Noah," Amanda tells him, as if reading his mind. "You just being here... that's enough."
He blinks fast, wiping his face with the sleeve of his hoodie. "I didn't know what to do," he whispers again, his voice fragile.
"You did everything right," Amanda says. "You stayed. You got help. That blanket... that was everything."
They sit like that for a while. Quiet, connected. Her hand still in his. Her body throbbing, her chest tight, but her heart steadier than it was an hour ago.
Then the door eases open again.
Olivia steps inside. She stops when she sees them—Amanda upright, just barely, and Noah holding her hand like it's a lifeline.
Amanda meets her gaze.
Olivia's throat works as she fights emotion. "Hey," she says softly, like she doesn't want to disturb the stillness.
Noah looks up at his mom and starts to pull his hand away. Amanda gives it one last squeeze before letting go.
Olivia steps to the bedside, crouching down beside her son and brushing a hand gently over his back. "You okay, kiddo?"
He nods, not speaking.
Then Olivia turns to Amanda, her voice quieter, eyes searching hers. "How are you doing?"
"We're doing okay," Amanda replies, her words careful. Olivia hears the deflection but doesn't push.
She rubs Noah's back gently. "I think we should let Aunt Amanda get some more rest, honey. Uncle Fin's gonna take you back to his place again for the night, but he'll bring you back first thing in the morning, okay?"
Noah looks reluctant to move, glancing at Amanda.
Amanda gives him the softest smile she can manage. "I'll still be here when you come back, baby. Promise."
He lingers for a beat longer, then nods. "I'll see you tomorrow."
The door closes behind him with a soft click.
The silence that follows is thick, weighted. Amanda closes her eyes, like she's finally able to let go again now that it's just Olivia.
Olivia sinks into the chair Noah left behind—not too close—but close enough. Her hands rest in her lap. Her presence quiet. Steady.
Amanda opens her eyes, turns her head just enough to meet Olivia's gaze.
"Thank you," she says, voice rough.
"I know that wasn't easy, honey," Olivia acknowledges. "Thank you for seeing him. He really needed that."
The tears flood Olivia's eyes so quickly that she has to look away. "Amanda, what you did... for him... I don't know how to..." She has to stop, swallow.
Amanda blinks rapidly, the pressure behind her eyes overwhelming. "I didn't even know if I could keep breathing."
"You did."
Amanda lets her head tip back against the pillow, her gaze flickering toward the ceiling. "It was him. I couldn't let them... I tried to hang on for as long as I could... to stay conscious..."
Olivia's eyes glisten. "You protected my son, Amanda."