His face slowly, agonizingly falls. “I’m sorry,” he cuts in. “I…That was…I—” “I don’t want to go,” I interrupt. His chest heaves up and down. “You don’t want to go.” “I don’t want to go,” I repeat, a slow smile spreading over my face. “I love you.” “You love me?” And there’s relief, sadness, then disbelief. I smile even wider. “I love you, Cliff.”
