“I’m fine.”
“You keep saying that.”
Another silence stretches between us.
Not awkward.
Worse.
The kind loaded with things neither person wants to touch.
Finally I say, “I saw your face earlier.”
She doesn’t ask what I mean.
“With the little boy.”
Her breathing changes slightly.
“You thought you lost him.”
“That happens.”
“Doesn’t mean it stops hurting.”
She stares at the storm outside the shelter. “It has to.”
“Why?”
“Because if it doesn’t…” Her voice lowers. “I won’t be able to keep doing this.”
There it is.
Real.
Raw enough I almost feel guilty hearing it.
I turn my head slightly.
She’s closer than I realized.
Close enough to see exhaustion in her eyes.
Close enough to notice the way her lips part when she breathes.
Close enough to become a problem.
“You never stop, do you?” I murmur.
Her gaze lifts slowly to mine.
“No.”
Not stubborn.
Not dramatic.
Just true.
