She could have asked anything, but she asks that. Something in him shudders, his arms tightening around her.
You don't want to know, he wants to say, but he knows what he means is I don't want to see your face when I tell you, and he'd never accept that for himself. He can't bar her from knowledge of her children, however much he might want to spare her the possibility of having to lose them twice.
Instead, he reaches for the stack of pictures and cards, all the little pieces of their children's lives, and he brings them around so they can both look at Emily's birthday smile. He hasn't seen this photo in years; looking at it now feels worse, somehow. More like her death was his to carry, too.
"What if..." He takes a moment, swallowing back a wave of emotion beyond anything he's ever let himself feel about this. "We could start with when she was alive. Her name was Emily. You thought she looked just like Melissa."
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You don't want to know, he wants to say, but he knows what he means is I don't want to see your face when I tell you, and he'd never accept that for himself. He can't bar her from knowledge of her children, however much he might want to spare her the possibility of having to lose them twice.
Instead, he reaches for the stack of pictures and cards, all the little pieces of their children's lives, and he brings them around so they can both look at Emily's birthday smile. He hasn't seen this photo in years; looking at it now feels worse, somehow. More like her death was his to carry, too.
"What if..." He takes a moment, swallowing back a wave of emotion beyond anything he's ever let himself feel about this. "We could start with when she was alive. Her name was Emily. You thought she looked just like Melissa."