Ian’s soft hazel eyes peered intently into my face with no apparent surprise or distress, though. At last he let go, and patted my shoulder gently. “Ye’ll do, Auntie,” he said. “It’s still you, isn’t it?” “Yes,” I said. And with no warning at all, tears welled up and overflowed. I knew exactly what he’d meant, and why he’d said it—and it was true.
IAAAAAAN. I'm crying.
