Chapter 3: You Protect Yourself By Pushing People Away
Claire's POV
Morning sunlight floods the dining room. I'm standing by the tables with a seating chart I stayed up making last night. Color-coded. Organized. Perfect.
"Emma, sit here next to Tyler today!" I gesture at the chairs. "Ben, how about by the window?"
The kids hesitate, looking at each other. Emma slides into her chair. Tyler follows. But Ben freezes, staring at his usual wall seat, fingers twisting his shirt.
The door swings open. Luca walks in with coffee, scanning the room. His eyes land on the rearranged seating. His jaw tightens.
"What are you doing?"
"Just mixing things up. Thought the kids could make new friends."
He's already moving toward Ben. "Ben sits against the wall. Always."
He starts repositioning chairs, quick and practiced. Crouches beside Ben, voice going soft. "Your usual spot, buddy."
Ben's shoulders drop with relief.
"I was trying to help them socialize."
Luca straightens, turning to face me. Those gray-blue eyes are cold. "Trying and understanding are two different things. Ben has anxiety. He needs to see the whole room, needs his back against the wall. You just triggered him."
"No one told me that."
"Maybe if you asked before making changes, you'd know."
My fingers crush the useless seating chart. Seven pairs of eyes watch us. Luca picks up his coffee and walks out.
The day drags on. Each task feels like walking on eggshells. By afternoon, tension sits heavy in my chest.
Outside, kids scatter across the playground. I'm helping with the swings when I notice Tyler climbing the monkey bars. Higher. Higher. Then he stops.
His hands grip the metal so tight his knuckles go white. He's frozen at the top, face pale.
I walk over. "Tyler, you okay up there?"
His voice shakes. "I can't get down."
"Sure you can! You're so brave! Just jump, I'll catch you!"
Tyler's face drains of color. His whole body starts trembling.
"Don't. Let. Him. Jump."
Luca's voice cuts through the playground noise. He strides toward us, jaw set, eyes blazing. He reaches the monkey bars and scales them fast. When he speaks again, his tone completely changes.
"Hey, Tyler. Look at me. I'm right here. One hand at a time, just like we practiced. I've got you."
Step by careful step, Luca guides Tyler down. When Tyler's feet hit the ground, he wraps his arms around Luca's legs.
Luca rubs Tyler's back before standing. When he faces me, his expression is ice.
"Tyler came back from his foster home last week. His foster father said 'jump and I'll catch you.' Then he didn't. Tyler fell. Broke his arm."
The words hit me like a punch. My face goes hot, then cold.
"I didn't know." My voice sounds weak. "You could have told me privately."
He lets out a harsh laugh. "Privately? So you traumatize him first, then I explain why that was fucked up?"
"I was trying to encourage him!"
"These kids don't need your encouragement. They need someone who understands their trauma. Someone who won't accidentally reopen wounds because they're too busy playing hero."
He takes Tyler's hand and walks away. Tyler glances back at me. There's fear in his eyes. Fear of me.
I stand there, nails digging into my palms.
He's right. That makes it worse.
Evening. Kitchen prep. I'm chopping tomatoes for pasta sauce, trying to prove I can do something useful. Water boils on the stove.
The door opens. Luca walks in, heading for the fridge. He sees the pot and stops.
"You're making tomato sauce?"
I don't look up. "Yeah. Pasta for dinner. Problem?"
He steps closer. "Emma's allergic to tomatoes."
My head snaps up. "No one told me. Maybe if someone had bothered to give me a proper orientation instead of criticizing everything I do."
He points at the wall. "It's on the wall. Right there."
A large chart hangs beside the pantry. "Dietary Restrictions & Allergies." Emma's name is there in clear letters: "Tomatoes, severe reaction."
Heat floods my face. "I didn't see it."
He sighs. "If you'd bothered to look. These details matter."
He walks to the stove and turns off the burner. "I'll handle dinner. You can set the table. That should be safe enough."
Something inside me snaps. I slam the knife down on the cutting board. The apron comes off and lands on the counter.
"Fine. You handle everything. Since apparently I can't do anything right."
"That's not what I—"
"That's exactly what you've been saying since I got here."
I storm out. The door swings shut hard.
Later, I'm carrying laundry down the second-floor hallway. Footsteps echo from the opposite end. Luca appears with a toolbox. We're walking toward each other. The hallway narrows. We stop inches apart.
"Excuse me." My voice is ice.
"You first." His tone matches mine.
Five seconds of silence. Neither of us moves. I can hear my own heartbeat. His gray-blue eyes bore into mine with the same stubborn intensity burning in my chest.
Finally, I step aside, deliberately bumping his shoulder. "Mature."
He glances back, eyebrow raised. "You would know."
We continue in opposite directions, both turning to glare until we reach opposite ends.
God, I hate him.
At dinner, Mrs. Rodriguez returns. Her warm presence fills the room as she greets the children, but her knowing eyes move between Luca and me. We're sitting at opposite ends. We don't make eye contact once.
That night at ten, there's a knock. Mrs. Rodriguez enters with two steaming mugs. She settles on my bed, handing me one. The tea smells like chamomile and honey.
"Tell me, mija. What happened between you and Luca?"
I want to say nothing. But everything pours out. "He hates me. Everything I do is wrong. He makes me feel like I'm useless. Like I don't belong here."
My voice cracks. "I know I'm not a professional. I don't have his psychology degree or his three years of experience. But I'm trying. And he just keeps showing me how inadequate I am."
Mrs. Rodriguez squeezes my hand. "Oh, sweetheart. Luca doesn't hate you."
"Could've fooled me."
She smiles. "He's scared of you."
I stare at her. "Scared? Of me?"
"Do you know how long Luca's been volunteering here?" I shake my head. "Three years. Five days a week, rain or shine. Never missed a day."
She pauses. "He was ten when he got adopted. A nice couple. For six years, he had a family. A real family. He told me once it was the happiest time of his life."
Her voice softens. "Then when he was sixteen, his foster parents died in a car accident. Both of them. One night he had a family. Next morning, he was an orphan again."
My breath catches.
"Imagine that, Claire. Being abandoned once, then finding a home, letting yourself love, and then losing it all over again. That kind of pain changes you."
"The roof repairs. The playground equipment."
She nods. "All him. His own money. He gives each child a birthday party. These children aren't a volunteer project to him. They're his family."
"You're not the first volunteer. Last year, an influencer came. Three days. Took lots of photos. The kids loved her. Then she left and never came back. Emma cried for a week."
"I'm not—"
"I know you're not. But Luca doesn't. To him, you're another stranger who might hurt these kids who've already been hurt too much." She pauses. "And maybe he sees something in you that reminds him of himself. Someone running from something. Someone trying to find home."
"You two are alike. Both protecting yourselves. You by being useful, by pleasing others, by never asking for what you need. Him by pushing people away, by being harsh, by never letting anyone close enough to hurt him again."
She stands. "Give him a chance, Claire. Not for him. For you. Because I think you both need to learn that it's okay to let people in."
At the door, she stops. "And Claire? He doesn't hate you. He's just terrified you'll prove him right, that caring about people only leads to more loss."
After she leaves, I lie staring at the ceiling. Luca lost his family twice. Once as a child, again at sixteen when he finally learned to love. And here I am, bitter because he criticized my seating chart.
I think of Ethan. How he said I couldn't do anything without him. Luca's criticism triggered that same insecurity. You're not good enough. You can't do anything right.
But Luca isn't Ethan.
Ethan's criticism came from control. Luca's harshness comes from love and fear. One wanted to keep me small. The other just wants to protect kids who've been hurt too many times.
I get up and walk to the window. Evergreen's night sky is scattered with stars. Seattle never had stars like this. Too much light pollution. I'd forgotten what stars looked like.
I make a decision. I'm going to apologize. Not because I was wrong, okay, in some things I was, but because I understand now.
