“She sounds amazing.” “She was.” Reaching over, I take his hand. “I’m sorry I never got the chance to meet her.” He squeezes my hand. “She would have liked you.” His words send my nerves buzzing in my chest. “Why do you say that?” “Because she would have seen in you the same thing I see.” “And what do you see?” Even in the dark, I know he’s looking at me. I feel the weight of his full attention, the deep anchoring of his soul behind his eyes. “Ett rent hjärta,” he whispers in Swedish.
A pure heart
