“I am...maybe like my mother. Depressed. Sometimes. And it is not fixed. It might not be something to fix.” Shane looked surprised, but he covered it quickly. “Okay.” “You cannot blame yourself, if it...gets bad.” Shane propped himself up on an elbow. “Ilya. Are you saying you think about, like—” “No. Not really. I don’t know. I feel like I could think about it. Okay?” Shane blinked a few times. “Okay,” he whispered.
