Whoever was sitting to my left reached over and wrapped their arm around my shoulder, and that’s when I knew I was broken. Because I didn’t flinch. Because it didn’t hurt. Because I didn’t care. “Give me a pen,” I managed to say, using every ounce of strength I had left inside of me to lift my head off the table. “I’ll sign.” “Thank Jesus.” “You’re doing the right thing, son.” “Promise me something,” I mumbled. “Anything, Joey love.” “I’m so proud of you, Joe.” Scrawling my name across the page, I released the pen and dropped my head in my hands, feeling like I didn’t have an ounce of life
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