LOGIN“You never needed me to make sense,” I said. “You saw me, all of me, and stayed. You didn’t flinch when I broke things open. You held my hand through the blood and through the fear. You made space for me to be loud, to be sharp, to be whole. I will walk beside you through whatever comes next, not be
The morning of our wedding began with a stillness I hadn’t felt in years. The Pack House was quiet in a way that felt intentional, like the staff had pulled back out of respect rather than routine. The usual rustle of paper and the clatter of trays were gone, replaced by a stillness that settled low
A push, low and deliberate.I froze. My breath caught. I touched the spot with both hands and stayed completely still.The seamstress said something I didn’t register. I just lowered myself into the nearest chair, barefoot, one hand still pressed to the place where I’d felt the baby. I wasn’t nervou
The Pack House had always been a center of activity, but over the next five months it transformed into something closer to a living organism, breathing with tension and anticipation as preparations unfolded.Conversations overlapped in every hallway, deliveries arrived at all hours, and wedding plan
The two tradespeople didn’t interact directly, but there was no tension. They were neighbors, working under the same sky, trying to get through the same uncertain week.Two children ran through the street, one barefoot and carrying a string of copper wire, the other wrapped in patched fabric. They s
The room was functional and plainly arranged, with no microphones or press in sight. A long oak table, faintly scented with polish, stretched between two rows of mismatched chairs pulled from various offices. Some were padded, others worn and bare, but all showed signs of regular use. They served th







