When I called her last night, I knew what I was getting myself into, but I didn’t care. I care more about her than my own worries.

I look at her, as she answers the question truthfully, and she looks so cold, beaten, so empty. She looks sad, and alone. I don’t want to be anywhere else.

“Do you know what it is?”, I ask wrapping my arm around her.

“That’s the worst part…”, her voice cracks, she’s holding back tears.

“What is?”

“I don’t know why I feel this way,” she’s so close to losing it. I pull her in closer, so that her head is against my chest.

“What do you feel?”, I whisper.

“I…I… I don’t know,” she breaks down and just cries. I stroke her hair.

“It’s okay. Yaley… you’re okay.”