“I keep thinking I should be grateful.”
“You can be grateful to be alive and furious about what was taken.”
“What if it never comes back?”
“Then it never comes back.”
His face tightened.
I continued before fear could make the words sound hopeless.
“And you still get a life.”
“Not that one.”
“No. Maybe not exactly.”
His gaze dropped to the photographs.
“But you won’t be empty,” I said. “You won’t be alone. You’ll decide what comes next, and I’ll help if you let me.”
“Because you loved him.”
“I love you.”
He looked up.
The distinction mattered to me more than anything.
“Not a memory of you,” I said. “Not the man in those photographs. You. The man who is tired and angry and trying to make sense of something impossible.”
Noah stared at me.
“You don’t know me now.”
“I’m learning.”
“What if I’m different?”
“You are.”
The truth landed.
I let it.
“So am I.”
His fingers closed around the photo strip.
“I don’t know what you want from me.”
“Nothing you don’t choose.”
“You say that all the time.”
“Because I need you to believe it.”
His eyelids lowered.
