June

By the time we reach our apartment building, Leila is barely holding herself together. I have her arm slung over my shoulder, carrying her more than guiding her. She’s still crying—quiet now, but her body trembles with every breath.

I keep telling myself I’m doing the right thing bringing her home. Lia had already started giving her strange looks, wondering why Leila was crying harder than everyone else combined. The last thing we needed was more questions, more explanations.

More ...