Damien Shaw
As we pull out of the parking lot, I glance over at Imogene. She’s sitting stiffly in the passenger seat, her hands resting in her lap, fingers twisting a small strand of hair. She’s trying to hide it, but I know her well enough to see the tension in her shoulders. The way her jaw tightens every few seconds. I place a hand on her knee and give it a gentle squeeze.
“Lily’s going to be fine, you know,” I say. “Breonna knows what she’s doing. You trust her, right?”
“It’s not about trusting Breonna. I do. It’s just...I’ve never been away from her for this long.”
I nod, understanding her hesitation. I get it. I really do. But we need this. She needs this. We need time for ourselves after the roller coaster of dramas we’ve been through.
“I know it’s hard, but it’s only a week.
