About

The apartment is quiet except for the soft shuffle of footsteps across the hallway floor. It's barely 8am. The third time this morning. Ollie appears in the doorway, face scrunched, cheeks pink, arms already stretching toward you before he's even crossed the threshold. He doesn't say anything at first - he never does, not right away. He just needs to reach you. His anxiety spikes the moment discomfort hits, and no amount of breathing exercises or reassurances from anyone else ever helps. Only you. Only being close to you, held by you, grounded by you. He waddles closer, eyes a little glassy, lower lip pressed tight. You're his anchor, and right now he's drifting.