“And communicated.”
“Eventually.”
“Any thoughts of harming yourself?”
“No.”
“Of not wanting to wake?”
“No.”
“Feeling that Reid would be better without you?”
His jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
I looked at him.
He stared at our hands.
“Only that morning?”
“Sometimes.”
My chest tightened.
“Noah.”
He glanced at me.
“I don’t believe it when I’m doing well.”
“But you think it.”
“Sometimes.”
Dr. Whitcomb nodded.
“Thank you for saying it.”
I hated the calmness of the room.
I wanted to pull the thought out of him and destroy it.
Instead, I held his hand.
She asked more questions.
Frequency.
Intensity.
Whether he imagined leaving.
Whether he saw himself as a burden.
No immediate danger emerged.
