Michael had just about had it. “Maybe you should go if you’re that miserable. I’m not holding a gun to your head here.” He had been genuinely worried, but now was more concerned with the distraction my adventure had caused. “You’re supposed to be supporting me, not undercutting me,” he sulked.
I felt bad; he seemed young and overburdened at that moment, and I went up to him. “I’m sorry.” I said it simply and meant it.
“You know, a lot of people would love to be in your position.”
“For good reason, honey.”
He pulled me to him, but even as I clung on for dear life and felt him tighten his grip in response, I couldn’t shake the chilly sense of imminent departure, a creepy future-deja vu that hung in the air.
Despite the doctor’s marching orders, I wasn’t gone the next day and had the pleasure of…
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