“Mama, I can’t.” “Of course you can. Don’t be silly.” “I’m in Paris.” She sucks in a breath, and then she curses softly. When she starts crying, I can’t hold back my tears for another second.
I cry every single time I read this scene. I can't help but think of my own kids and how I'd burn the word down to get them safely home to me... but sometimes that's not possible.
I like to write YA without a lot of on-page parental involvement, but this scene tugs at my heartstrings every time.
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