Rain pressed softly against the supermarket windows, blurring the outside world into streaks of gray. Inside, the lights hummed and carts rattled over tile floors, but none of it registered for Jax. He stood in the toy aisle, arms already sore, holding Ellie against his chest as if letting go—even for a second—might cause something fragile to break.

Ellie’s breathing was uneven, shallow, the kind that made adults listen more closely than they wanted to. Her small body was warm, too warm, and every rise and fall of her chest felt deliberate, like effort instead of instinct.

“I’m sorry,” her mother whispered, standing beside them. Her voice carried guilt, exhaustion, fear—all of it wrapped into two quiet words.

“It’s okay,” Jax replied without hesitation. “I’ve got her.”

Ellie shifted slightly, her forehead brushing his collarbone.
“I’m sleepy,” she murmured, the words barely making it out.

“I know,” Jax said gently. “Just rest. I’m here.”

She tucked her head beneath his chin, and he adjusted his grip—slow, careful, like every movement mattered. Around them, people passed by. Some glanced, curiosity flickering across their faces before they looked away. Jax didn’t notice. His world had narrowed to the weight in his arms and the sound of Ellie’s breath.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

She nodded, a tiny movement he felt more than saw.

They stopped near the dolls. Ellie opened her eyes again, unfocused but searching.
“That one,” she said, lifting a finger weakly.

Jax leaned closer to see where she was pointing.
“You like her?”

Ellie smiled—just a little. “She’s… purple.”

For a moment, the normalcy of it almost broke him.

Then her breathing hitched.

Jax felt it instantly. His arms tightened—not in panic, but reassurance.
“Hey,” he whispered. “I’m here. You’re safe.”

Her fingers curled into the fabric of his vest, holding on like it was the only solid thing in the room. Her mother turned away, wiping her eyes, saying nothing because there was nothing left to say.

At the register, Ellie stirred again.
“Can you… hold me?” she asked, fear creeping into her voice.

Jax lowered his head, his voice steady and calm.
“I am. I’m not going anywhere.”

And in that crowded supermarket, surrounded by noise and movement and strangers, time slowed. There were no errands, no lists, no worries beyond the small girl in his arms.

For those few quiet minutes, all that mattered was this:
She was held.
She was safe.
And someone was there when she needed it most.