Misha’s body is pressed against my back, spooning me tightly like he’s trying to take some of my pain with his touch. Amazingly, it does work. A little, at least.
“Don’t let me go, Misha. Don’t let me go.”
He doesn’t say a word. Maybe he recognizes there’s nothing he can say. He just holds me and waits for me to stop crying. When I finally do, he soothes me back to sleep.
The next time my eyes open, I’m shaking with guilty sobs yet again. And again, he’s still there, ready to shield me with his body, ready to give me some of his strength.
The sobs are softer now. The images in my head are just as visceral as they were before, but I’m already learning to live with them.
Humans may be fragile, but we’re also adaptable.
I roll over so I can see Misha. His face is half-covered in shadow,
