“No, you’re not.”
She tries to pull herself together immediately. “I need to check the others.”
“You don’t have to hold everything by yourself.”
That lands hard.
I see it happen.
Right there in her eyes.
That fracture opening wider.
She pulls her hand away too fast and stands abruptly.
“I should check the children,” she says again.
This time her voice sounds thinner.
I let her go.
Don’t stop her.
Doesn’t mean I don’t feel the loss of contact immediately.
Olivia moves back toward the others, kneeling beside one of the mothers like nothing just happened.
But now I notice everything.
The exhaustion she keeps hiding.
The way she touches those kids like their pain physically hurts her.
The way she almost broke earlier—
And didn’t.
And worst of all?
The way she looked at me just now.
Like I was someone safe to lean on.
That’s dangerous.
For both of us.
7
Russ
The storm rolls in like an ambush.
One second the night is clear enough to see the ridge line.
The next, wind slams into us hard enough to shove people sideways.
Dust explodes through the air.
