Carr shifted, his arm sliding around her shoulders, pulling her against him, his chin resting on top of her head, both his arms around her. He didn't really know what to say - PTSD didn't even begin to cover what was wrong with Molly, and while he didn't know the specifics, he knew that she had to be incredibly mentally strong to have coped even as much as she had.
"It's not stupid, love," he replied at last. "Funny things'll set you off." He closed his eyes, thinking for a moment. He didn't want to make her feel worse, wasn't sure just how wonky her shielding was.
"For a year after..." he stopped. Wrong place to start.
"My wife was murdered. And my-" he swallowed hard. "Our baby girl." His voice was soft, sorrowful, but he wanted her to know she wasn't alone. That blacking out wasn't a failure.
"I couldn't hear a shopdoor bell for a year after," he continued. "Not without seein' them..." He didn't finish. He'd found Mel and Rose first; had run to the pack, to find out why they hadn't protected his shop, his girls. Only to find there had been no one left to protect them.