Matio Rodriguez
I didn't move for a long time. I just kept holding Sara, letting her cry until her sobs faded into quiet sniffles. I didn't know what else to do. Apologizing didn't seem enough. Nothing did.
When her breathing finally slowed and the tension in her shoulders eased, I knew she was drained—physically and emotionally. I shifted slightly, trying not to disturb her, but she clung tighter, as if afraid I’d vanish the second she let go.
I carefully scooped her up, one arm under her knees and the other around her back. She didn’t protest, just buried her face into my shoulder, too exhausted to question it. As I carried her down the hallway, I felt a pang of guilt again. She shouldn’t have to rely on me for comfort after I was the one who broke her.
I carried her to my room, the
