“I need to go. I’ll call you tomorrow.” I respond emptily, despite the turmoil of grief going off inside of me, too consumed with what I am feeling to say anything else or hear more about what I do not want to be true. I hang up before he responds, before he gives me a lecture, or just calls me out for being an, idiot, or an asshole. Before he crushes me with anymore truth that I’m not capable of hearing.

Sophie is right. I am lame. It kills me inside that she’s not my Sophs ...