“Don't yield to her," I whisper. "Don't even yield to the memory of her."
He draws back a little, just enough so I can meet his eyes.
"Don't yield to me either," I say, and have to swallow past the sudden emotion in my throat. "Yield to yourself. Yield to forgiveness. Yield to happiness. Yield to this moment. It's not hers. It's yours. It's mine. It's ours.”