“He’s gone, Ambrose.” “I know.” “I can’t stand it. It hurts so bad that I want to die too.” “I know,” he repeated softly, his voice steady. And Fern knew that he did. He understood, maybe better than anyone else could. “How did you know I needed you?” Fern whispered in broken tones. “Because I needed you,” Ambrose confessed without artifice, his voice thick with heartache.
