She can’t go. She can’t. I can’t . . . Resting my elbows on the seat, I hold my head in my hands as lumps of something fill my throat and my stomach quivers. And then . . . I feel something warm cover my back, arms wrap around my body, and hands tip my chin back and wipe the hair away from my face. I tense, instinct telling me to push her away, but all I want is her. She holds me to her, and I fall back, collapsing in her arms, crying. “You weren’t supposed to leave,” I murmur. “You weren’t supposed to give up on me.”
