Claire
Daniel found me in the garden two days later, kneeling in the dirt pulling weeds I didn't actually need to pull, which he correctly understood was less about the garden and more about needing something to do with my hands that didn't involve staring at my phone.
"You've been out here a while," he said, crouching down beside me.
"I keep thinking if I just work through it methodically, one bed at a time, I'll eventually land on how I'm supposed to feel about all of this." I sat back on my heels, wiping dirt across my forehead without meaning to. "It's not working."
"How are you feeling, then? Right now, this minute."
I thought about it honestly, which was harder than it sounded, because I'd spent two days cycling through so many different versions of anger and hurt and confusion
