The call ended and I just sat there holding the phone.
Sophia had said okay. One word, no questions, no wait, are you sure, Just okay. Give me an hour. And something about that, the cleanness of it, the way she didn’t make me explain myself or defend the decision or perform the right kind of grief first, cracked something open in my chest that I had been holding shut since last night.
I pressed the back of my hand against my mouth.
The tears came quietly. Not the kind from last night, not the burning, helpless kind that Beatrice had stood there and watched with satisfaction. These were different. Slower. The kind that come after something has already broken and you are finally, finally alone with it.
I let them fall. I did not wipe them.
I reached for the pen on the nightstand.
The d
