You have this faraway look in your blue ocean eyes, like you’re staring right through me. I can see your jaw clench tighter as you fight the tears. Your fists tighten on your lap as you sit next to me on the bed.

“Here,” I say, wrapping my hand around your head like I always do. “Cry if it helps. I won’t think any less of you.” Now you would curl up into a ball with your head on my lap and—

But you don’t. Instead you sit bolt upright and hiss at me: “Is it true?”

“Is what true?” My eyebrows furrow as I think back on all the things I had done that could have pushed you into this state.

“Did—” I can see you push yourself through whatever pain consumes you. “Jake told me that he saw you go to the clinic.”

“Which—”

“You know which!” You’re shouting now and I have the urge to call up into a ball and die.

But I don’t. I stare at a stain on the carpet and say, “I had to.” as quietly as possible.

“You didn’t. I—”

“Would you rather I died?”