EMBER’S POV
Queenie doesn’t answer.
I glance over and she’s staring at the dashboard and tears are sliding down her cheeks in two clean lines and her mouth is pressed shut and she’s not making a sound.
She’s just sitting there, crying silently, and the silence is louder than anything she could have said because the answer is in the tears and the tears say no.
I don’t push. I don’t fill the quiet with comfort or platitudes.
I just let her cry, because sometimes that’s the kindest thing you can do.
After a while, she wipes her face, exhales, and straightens her shoulders the way women do when they’re putting themselves back together in real time.
“Well,” she says, her voice rough. “That was deeply unpleasant.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m going to need to think about some things.”
“Yeah.”
“But
