I understand being sad in ways that don’t necessarily make sense. To wake up feeling a little dimmer than the day before, a little emptier, and his grief has manifested into this leeching sorrow. I see it in his eyes. It hurts to watch someone like Ryke, stubborn and committed, suddenly slow down and sink beneath quicksand. I can’t pull him out. I want to so badly, but I can’t rouse his spirits by going for a run or playing bad cop. I have to go easy because of the baby, and he needs someone who’s going hard.
