The hedgehog was frozen about six feet away, trying to decide if she was a threat.
Something twisted in my gut.
My wife was sitting on cold ground at three in the morning, drunk, talking to wildlife about divorcing me.
I took another step.
The hedgehog bolted.
"Wait—" Elara made a sad sound. "I wasn't finished—"
"Elara."
Her head snapped up.
Those eyes. Green and unfocused and somehow still managing to cut straight through me.
"Oh," she said. "You."
"Can you stand?"
She looked at me for a long moment. And something shifted in her expression—went soft and dreamy in a way I'd never seen before.
"You're so handsome," she said. Like it was a revelation. Like she'd just discovered gravity. "Way more handsome than my ex-husband."
Ex-husband.
The word hit me in the chest.
My mouth
