She shook her head. She shouted her words, in anger, and in order to be heard over the din of weather. “You can’t expect me to...You can’t ask me to not ask you what the hell happened that you...” But she only drifted off, too hurt to go on, taking turns eyeing the queer sky and rippling treeline.
His voice was firm and woeful. “I have to. I have to ask you to not ask me about that. Some things can’t be put in words. I just...I had to see you one last time. To just see you. And to tell you...Don’t wait for me. If you’ve been waiting at all. I...I have to go now...”
“But Jim...What? Ten years. What is it? Did it...Were you hurt, or...”
He paused, features struggling as he sought the right words to give her. He said, “I was hurt when I left you.” A tear, the first she’d ever seen from him
