“Yes.”
He swallowed.
“Do you think she loved me too?”
I looked out at the street.
“I think she did. I think she always did.”
He nodded, but his voice came out thin.
“Then why does it feel like I’m the only one who has to carry all of this?”
I reached for his hand.
“Because you’re the one who has to move forward from it,” I said softly. “But you’re not doing that alone.”
This time, he held on.
“Okay,” he said. “Together.”
I nodded.
The sunlight touched the flowers on the porch railing, making them look softer than they felt.
But some things don’t stop hurting.
You just learn how to carry them.
