She pushed her fingertips against her eyes. “You will not cry for him,” she said aloud. “You will not cry.” She took a deep breath before tapping on her phone display and bringing it to her ear.

The small smidgen of strength Lina had remaining dissolved when Nick opened his front door. “It’s over.”

He engulfed her in his arms. “Shh,” he whispered softly into her hair as she began to cry. “Shh.” He ran his hand over the back of her head.

“I’m ruining your jacket,” she hiccupped against his chest.

“Ruin it. I don’t care.”

She released a shaky sigh. “I don’t want to cry for him anymore.”

“Do whatever makes you feel better.”

“Just hold me,” she whispered, taking comfort in the feel of his arms around her. “That makes me feel better.”

Several minutes passed before he led her to his family room and sat beside her on his sofa, his arm stretched out behind her, his body turned in her direction. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“You must think I’m such a baby,” she whispered, wiping at her eyes. “I never used to cry.”

“I think you’re upset.”

“She sent me pictures of the two of them.”

“Kim?”

“Yes,” she breathed before describing the images now burned in her brain. “He cancelled our spring break this year, claiming he was too busy with work, but it was because of her. He had time to vacation with her but not his family.” Just voicing the words had her stomach clenching. “Steamboat was my favorite place. My kids learned to ski there, and I imagined taking my grandchildren there. And now I can never go back.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I never wanted to be divorced. I never wanted to do that to my children.”

“This isn’t your fault, Lina.”

“Does it matter whose fault it is? They’re hurt just the same, aren’t they?”

“I’m sorry.” He curved his hand around the back of her neck. “I wish there was something I could do.”

“Just being near you helps. I feel calmer around you. I always have.”

“Good. Will you be okay for a minute? I’d like to change out of my work clothes.”

It took thirty seconds for her unease to settle back in, and by the time he returned she was in the corner of the couch, hugging her knees to her chest, trying not to cry. “Lina?” He crossed to her, sitting down on the edge of the couch beside her, his hand gripping her knee. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know how I’m going to do this. I don’t even know how to be alone. I’m never alone.”

“What are you afraid of?”

She gripped his hand, resisting the urge to crawl into his lap. “I don’t know. I don’t want to think about it. Just don’t disappear for long stretches.”