‘I don’t know how to help you,’ she whispers, facing me and wrenching her knees up into the foetal position. ‘It’s okay, you don’t have to.’ I breathe in the puppy smell of Jeremy’s fluffy head. ‘You shouldn’t have to. I’m going to look after myself, I promise. I’m sorry.’ ‘But you don’t have to, Mathilda. You don’t have to face this alone. You have us.’
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