Percy’s POV The mansion had finally become quiet.
Not completely quiet.
With this many people under one roof, complete silence was basically impossible.
But quieter.
I was sitting downstairs, staring at nothing.
My mind kept going back to Jay.
She had gone upstairs almost an hour ago.
Maybe an hour and a half.
I checked the time again.
She hadn’t come back down.
Normally, I wouldn’t worry.
Jay loved disappearing into her room.
But today felt different.
She hadn’t looked well.
Her face had been tired.
Her eyes had looked distant.
And when I asked if she was okay…
“I’m fine, Perse.” I knew that answer.
Jay’s version of I’m fine usually meant: Don’t ask me anything.
I sighed.
I couldn’t sit there anymore.
I stood up.
Nobody really noticed.
Or maybe they did and simply didn’t say anything.
I walked upstairs.
My steps were quiet as I reached Jay’s bedroom.
I stopped outside her door.
I knocked softly.
“Baby?” No answer.
I opened the door slightly.
The room was dim.
My eyes immediately went toward the bed.
Jay was sleeping.
I smiled faintly.
“Finally…” She looked peaceful.
I quietly entered.
I was about to close the door when my eyes landed on her study table.
Something immediately felt familiar.
Medication.
I walked toward the table.
I already knew Jay had trauma.
I knew more than most people in the mansion did.
I knew about the nightmares.
The emotional crashes.
The moments when certain things triggered her.
I knew she had doctors.
I knew she had regular treatment.
I knew she had been dealing with trauma for a long time.
But I also knew there were things Jay never told me.
She always kept some parts of her pain locked away.
I picked up one bottle from the table.
I read the label.
Sleep medication.
My eyebrows immediately pulled together.
“Sleep…?” I looked toward Jay.
She was still sleeping.
I put the bottle down carefully.
I didn’t like this.
Not one bit.
My eyes moved toward the drawers.
I hesitated.
This wasn’t my place.
But something inside me kept telling me to check.
Not because I wanted to know her secrets.
Because I wanted to know what I had missed.
I slowly opened the first drawer.
Papers.
Notebooks.
Stationery.
Nothing unusual.
I closed it.
I opened the second.
More notebooks.
More papers.
A few documents.
Again, nothing that immediately worried me.
Then I opened the third drawer.
I froze.
My eyes widened.
The entire drawer was filled with medication bottles.
Different bottles.
Different labels.
Different prescriptions.
Some were for trauma-related treatment.
Some were for severe headaches.
Some were prescribed for anxiety symptoms.
Others were related to panic episodes.
There were medications intended to help with sleep.
And there were bottles connected to the physical symptoms that could come with severe stress.
I stared at them.
For a few seconds, I couldn’t move.
“Jay…” My voice came out barely above a whisper.
I already knew she had trauma.
But this?
This was more than I knew.
I picked up one bottle.
Then another.
I read the labels slowly.
My chest tightened.
“Since when…?” I looked at her again.
She was still sleeping.
Peacefully.
Like none of this existed.
Like her mind wasn’t fighting battles every day.
I swallowed hard.
I knew about her trauma.
I knew some of the worst parts.
But I hadn’t known about the panic attacks.
I hadn’t known she needed medication to sleep.
I hadn’t realized the physical symptoms had become serious enough for her doctors to prescribe medication for them.
And suddenly…
I felt stupid.
Because I had thought I knew everything about her.
I didn’t.
I knew Jay.
But there were still pieces of her pain she had never shown me.
My eyes moved to the notebooks.
I slowly pulled one out.
I wasn’t planning to read it.
I only wanted to see what was inside.
A few papers slipped out from between the pages.
I caught them before they reached the floor.
I looked down.
My heart stopped.
Medical reports.
I read the heading.
Trauma follow-up.
I stared.
I opened another report.
Then another.
Weekly checkup.
Another weekly assessment.
Another follow-up.
Another report.
My fingers tightened around the papers.
“Every week…?” I whispered.
I looked at the dates.
They weren’t just recent.
There were several.
Week after week.
Appointment after appointment.
Assessment after assessment.
She had been going through this continuously.
And somehow…
she still came downstairs every morning.
Still joked.
Still argued.
Still smiled.
Still protected everyone.
Still acted like she was perfectly fine.
I sat down slowly on the edge of the chair beside the table.
I looked at the reports again.
There were notes about trauma symptoms, anxiety, sleep problems, headaches and episodes of overwhelming fear.
I didn’t read everything.
I didn’t want to invade her privacy.
But I had seen enough.
My throat tightened.
I looked toward the bed.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jay moved slightly in her sleep.
I immediately stopped talking.
She settled again.
I stared at her.
My baby.
The person who could scare an entire room with one look…
was sleeping under a blanket while an entire drawer of medication sat beside her.
And suddenly I felt helpless.
I knew about her trauma.
I knew she had suffered.
But I had never understood the full weight of it.
I thought about all the times she had told me she was tired.
All the times she had said she had a headache.
All the times she had disappeared into her room.
All the times she had gone quiet.
I had accepted her answers.
Because she was Jay.
She always handled everything.
But maybe…
she shouldn’t have had to.
My eyes burned.
I whispered, “You’ve been suffering this much…” I looked down at the reports.
“And you still kept smiling.” I shook my head.
“Idiot.” There was no anger in my voice.
Only pain.
I carefully put the reports back between the notebooks exactly where I had found them.
Then I returned every medication bottle to the drawer.
One by one.
I made sure everything was exactly where it had been.
I closed the third drawer.
Then the second.
Then the first.
I looked at the medicine bottle on the table.
I left it exactly where it was.
I wasn’t going to question her while she was asleep.
I wasn’t going to expose her private medical information to everyone downstairs.
And I wasn’t going to make her feel like she had done something wrong.
She hadn’t.
She was surviving.
That was all.
I quietly pulled one chair closer to her bed.
I sat down.
My eyes stayed on her.
She was breathing peacefully.
For once, there was no tension on her face.
No anger.
No sadness.
No forced smile.
Just sleep.
I leaned back in the chair.
“Sleep, baby.” My voice was barely audible.
“I’m here.” I didn’t know how long I would stay.
Five minutes.
Ten.
Maybe longer.
I only knew I didn’t want her waking up alone.
My eyes slowly became heavier.
I fought it.
I really did.
But the quiet room…
the soft sound of her breathing…
and the exhaustion from the morning…
finally won.
My head tilted slightly against the chair.
My eyes closed.
And eventually…
I fell asleep beside her bed.
Without knowing that when Jay eventually woke up…
she wouldn’t be alone.
Because this time…
I am staying.