Alle Kapitel von 37 Times You Called My Name : Kapitel 121 – Kapitel 130

MIA POVThe rain had stopped sometime before dawn, leaving the city washed clean and the penthouse filled with a soft, watery light that made everything look newly made.I woke on my side of the bed, exactly where I had fallen asleep, the covers still neatly divided between us. Ryder lay on his back beside me, one arm bent behind his head, the other resting on his stomach. He was already awake. I could tell by the controlled stillness of his breathing and the way his eyes tracked the ceiling as if it held answers he hadn’t found yet.For a long time neither of us spoke.The night before felt heavier in the daylight. I had asked for the bed. I had climbed into it. I had told him I was tired of the couch feeling like a performance of restraint. And he had given me exactly what I asked for—space, silence, the absence of pressure. The kindness of that restraint sat in my chest like something I didn’t know how to carry.“You’re thinking loud,” he said eventually, voice rough with the hour.

MIA POVMorning arrived the way it had for several days now—quietly, with the weight of his hand still loosely linked with mine across the sheets.I woke first. The light in the penthouse was soft and gray, the kind that made the edges of everything look unfinished. Ryder lay on his side facing me, closer than the night before, our joined hands resting in the narrow space that still existed between our bodies. His breathing was deep and even. For once he hadn’t woken the second I shifted.I stayed still and let myself look at him.In sleep the sharp lines of his face softened. The controlled intensity that usually lived behind his eyes was gone, replaced by something almost vulnerable. A faint crease sat between his brows, as if even rest couldn’t fully erase whatever he carried. I traced it with my gaze and felt the same complicated pull that had been growing inside me for weeks—want tangled with memory, fear braided with the reluctant recognition that I no longer wanted to be anywhe

MIA POVI woke to the feeling of his mouth against my hair.Not a full kiss. Just the soft press of his lips, once, as if he had been doing it for a while without realizing I was awake. Morning light filled the bedroom in thin gold lines. I was still pressed against him, my leg tangled with his, one of his arms heavy around my waist. The careful distance we had maintained for so many nights was gone. In its place was this—warmth, closeness, the quiet fact that I had kissed him and then fallen asleep in his arms without running.Ryder’s hand moved slowly up my back when he felt me wake. The touch was light, giving me every chance to pull away.I didn’t.“Morning,” he said, voice rough.“Morning.”“Any regrets?”I considered the question the way I had every morning since I first used the code. The anger was still there. The fear was still there. But underneath both of them was something newer and more dangerous: the simple, stubborn fact that I wanted to stay.“No,” I said. “Not yet.”H

MIA POV The decision to start therapy didn’t arrive like a revelation. It came quietly, on a Thursday morning, while I sat on the edge of Ryder’s bed with a cooling cup of coffee in my hands and the ghost of his mouth still on my shoulder. He had left early for a foundation meeting, pressing a soft kiss to my temple and telling me to take the morning. The penthouse felt larger without him in it. Too quiet. Too full of the things I still hadn’t said out loud to anyone who wasn’t him. I opened my laptop and typed the search before I could talk myself out of it. Trauma-informed therapists. Specializing in bullying, power dynamics, complicated relationships. Sliding scale if needed, though money was no longer the barrier it once had been. I booked the first available appointment with a woman named Dr. Elena Ruiz. Her profile photo showed kind eyes and a calm expression. Her bio mentioned work with adult survivors

MIA POVThe hard session I had warned him about arrived on a gray Monday that matched the weather inside my chest.Dr. Ruiz’s office felt smaller than usual. Or maybe I just took up more space with everything I was carrying. I sat in the familiar armchair, hands wrapped around a cup of tea that had already gone lukewarm, and tried to find the edge of the thing I needed to say.“I keep waiting for the other shoe,” I told her. “Even when things are good. Especially when things are good. There’s a part of me that doesn’t trust peace. It feels like the moment before something is taken away.”Dr. Ruiz watched me with that calm, steady attention that never rushed. “What does the other shoe look like in your mind?”I stared at the rain-streaked window for a long time before I answered.“He gets bored of being careful. Or I get too comfortable and stop being interesting. Or the anger I’ve been setting down suddenly picks itself back up and ruins everything. Or my mother gets worse again and t