Isabella stumbles. I catch her around the waist and turn her toward me, burying my hand in her hair and pressing her face to my chest. Her parents and sister round the corner and rush toward us. The doctor meets them halfway and gives them the news. Isabella’s mother presses her hand to her mouth, and bursts out crying. I look down at Isabella, who is clutching my shirt in her small hands, her silent tears hitting me right in the chest like a sledgehammer. There’s nothing I can do to take away her pain, so I just hold her even tighter.
Luca
The rain starts as we’re leaving the cemetery. More than two hundred people attended the funeral, and as the drizzle transforms into a downpour, they run toward their cars for cover. Isabella doesn’t change her tempo, and instead stays walking by my s
