“I’m posting this...”

After the call with Mick, we stayed on the couch for a while. I didn’t say much. Veronica didn’t push. She just stayed tucked against my side, one hand resting on my chest like she was making sure I was still breathing.

Eventually she sat up a little and reached for her phone. I thought she was checking messages again, but instead she turned it around, flipped the camera to selfie mode, and held it up.

“Come here,” she said quietly.

I blinked. “What are you doing?”

She leaned in closer until our faces were side by side in the frame. Her hair was messy, she was still wearing my old t-shirt, and I looked like I hadn’t slept properly in days. She didn’t seem to care.

“I’m posting this,” she said simply. “Us. Right now.”

I stared at the screen.

“Veronica…”

“I know,” she said, cutting me off gently. “I know it’s a lot. But I’m done pretending this is some secret or some mistake people can gossip about like it doesn’t involve real people. You’re here. With me. And I’m not hiding that.”

She looked at me properly then, eyes steady.

“You said you wanted the one person who calms you down in the room tomorrow. This is me saying I want you in mine too. Publicly. If that’s okay with you.”

I looked at the photo on her screen. We didn’t look like some polished influencer couple. We looked tired. Real. Her head was tilted against mine, and even though I was still carrying the weight of everything, there was something steady in the way she was pressed against me.

I nodded once.

“Okay,” I said. “Post it.”

She smiled — small and warm — and typed out a quick caption with one hand while still holding the phone up.

Sometimes the universe throws weird shit at you. This one’s mine. Be kind.

She posted it before I could overthink it.

The likes and comments started rolling in almost immediately.

Some were supportive. Some were shocked. A few were exactly what you’d expect from the internet. But Veronica didn’t seem bothered. She locked her phone after a minute and set it face-down on the coffee table, then turned back to me like the post didn’t exist.

“You good?” she asked.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realised I was holding.

“Yeah,” I said. “I think so.”

She climbed back into my lap properly this time, straddling me and resting her forehead against mine. The hoodie she’d been wearing had ridden up, and I could feel the warmth of her bare thighs against my jeans.

“I meant what I said,” she murmured. “You’re not doing any of this alone. Not the job stuff. Not your mates. Not whatever comes next. I’m here.”

I slid my hands up under the hoodie, resting them on her waist. She felt small and solid and real in a way that made everything else feel a little less heavy.

“I know,” I said.

She kissed me then — slow and deep, like she was trying to press the words into me. I kissed her back just as hard, hands tightening on her hips as she rolled against me.

For a little while, the phones stayed quiet on the table.

And for the first time since the HR meeting, I let myself believe that maybe losing everything else didn’t mean I’d lost everything.