Mia’s brimming tears finally spill over and course in rivulets down her cheeks. “Maybe I’m living in purgatory,” she says, “but that’s only because I deserve worse.” Mia blaming herself for my crime is buckshot to the soul. “Don’t say that.” I thread my fingers into her hair and cup her jaw. Maybe if I can hold her together, I won’t fall apart. And the fact that I even care about myself is a revelation. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” “Didn’t I?” She reaches up and wraps her fingers around my wrist. “Thank you for not blaming me. But if you want to help me forgive myself, you have to stop
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