“Not that I think there should be any comparison,” she said after a while. “Or that one loss is more than the other, or that we can measure a loss in the scars and memories left behind — but you have them, too. You have scars.” She pressed a cold, tiny hand over my heart, and I felt the beat of it through her palm. “They’re just not where you can see them. But you can feel them.” She shrugged. “You always will.”
