Weeks passed. Trust grew slowly.
Luna allowed Julia to brush her soft new hair. And during one of those simple moments, the world split open.
Julia was brushing gently when Luna suddenly flinched, grabbed the edge of Julia’s shirt, and whispered in a voice that sounded like it came from a dream:
“It hurts… don’t touch me, Mommy.”
Julia froze.
Not because of the pain—that could be understood—but because of that word.
Mommy.
Luna almost never spoke. And what she said didn’t sound accidental. It sounded like memory. Like old fear.
Julia swallowed, set the brush down slowly, and replied softly, hiding the storm inside her:
“It’s okay. We’ll stop for now.”
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