“What’s wrong?” he demands. “Nothing.” My voice shakes again. “You’re crying. That’s not nothing.” His eyes drop to the dozens of notes stuck to the floor. “What’s all this?” “Evidence of my stupidity,” I mumble. “What?” “Nothing.” “Stop saying nothing. Talk to me.” His thumb rubs a gentle line up my wet cheek. “I’m a good listener, I promise. Tell me what’s wrong.”
