“Squeeze my hand,” I tell her as I take her hand in mine. “When it hurts so bad you don’t think you can stand it, squeeze my hand.” She starts crying again, and she squeezes. And at that moment, I realize that if I have taken away a fraction of her pain, then I have more purpose than I have ever known. I’m not moving to London. I’m staying right here. I found my home. And it’s not New York or Seattle or London or even Los Angeles. It’s Gabby.
