As we exit the building, Koen halts briefly. His throat works as he looks into the distance, tight-lipped, running his tongue over his teeth. Composing himself. I bite into the inside of my cheek, feeling powerless. I’m sorry, I want to say. I know you care. I know it’s hard. But he’s unreachable—a large, silent presence at my side as we walk to the car, his legs so much longer than mine, I have to break into a light jog to keep up with him. “Will you slow down?”
