CONTESSA DOESN’T UNDERSTAND OPENING UP

Maggie was reading on the couch when Contessa got home. The apartment smelled of citrus cleaner and the faint remnants of microwave popcorn. Maggie didn’t look up at first—just stretched beneath her blanket, thumb still tucked between pages, and said, “Hey, you. How’d therapy go?”

Contessa stood near the door longer than usual. Then, carefully, she crossed the room and sat beside Maggie, not touching, but close.

“It was… uneventful,” she said.

Maggie peeked over her book. “You sure that’s the word you want?”

Then, with surprising quiet:

“Maggie… I don’t understand how to open up.”

The book slipped closed in Maggie’s lap. She turned fully, giving Contessa her full attention.

“I was told I should show you the parts of myself I keep hidden,” Contessa said. “But I don’t know what those are. I don’t know what you don’t already see.”

Maggie’s voice was gentle. “What do you think I do see?”

“You see someone competent. Composed. Logical. Capable.”

“Okay,” Maggie said with a nod. “And what don’t I see?”

Contessa looked down at her hands.

“I am… afraid,” she finally said, each word brittle in the air. “Not of danger. Or failure. But of being… wrong. Of being unnecessary.”

Maggie didn’t speak. She reached out, lacing their fingers together. No pressure. Just presence.

“I spent years knowing every answer,” Contessa continued. “And now that I don’t… I keep waiting for someone to notice. To realize I’m empty without it.”

“You’re not empty,” Maggie murmured, thumb brushing her knuckles. “You’re just human.”

“I am not good at being human.”

“None of us are,” Maggie said with a soft smile. “But you don’t have to be good at it to be loved.”

Contessa’s jaw clenched. Then, slowly, she leaned forward, resting her forehead against Maggie’s shoulder. Her breath caught—just once.

“I’m trying,” she whispered.

“I know,” Maggie said, wrapping an arm around her. “That’s all I need.”

And so for a while, Contessa just stayed there with the person who saw the parts she didn’t understand—and loved them anyway.