I don’t say anything else when I leave his office even though part of me wants to.
There are a thousand questions sitting on the edge of my tongue, sharp and impatient. All of them are begging for answers he’s obviously not ready to give me. But the way he looked at me when he said enough to keep you alive still sits in my chest in a way that I don’t know how to untangle yet.
So instead, I leave.
The walk back out of the building feels different than the way I came in. Not lighter, definitely not. But heavier in a way, like something has shifted, and I’m only now beginning to feel the weight of it settle into place.
The world outside is unchanged. That’s what’s unsettling.
Cars still pass on the distant road. Wind still moves through the trees. The mountains still sit where they alway
