Yeah, I saw it all too clearly—how easy it would be to step into something I wasn’t ready for, assuming I wasn’t misreading his signals. How incredible it would feel to kiss him, to have those sculpted arms around me for more than just a few minutes.

How impossible it would be to survive when my ruined heart was inevitably broken again.

Sam had shown up just in time.

…

“That sounds a little harsh,” Sam said slowly to Dr. Circe as she sat back in the armchair next to mine four days later.

“It’s not about being harsh,” Dr. Circe countered softly. “It’s about both Morgan and myself being aware of how Will’s death has changed her. She’s chosen you as her support person through this process, and I know she has immense trust in you. You won’t be harsh.”

Sam’s gaze skittered my way.

“Go ahead,” I encouraged.

Sam swallowed and looked back at Dr. Circe. “Before it happened, Morgan was fearless. She commanded every room she walked into and never hesitated to let anyone know what she was thinking. She had a smile that would light up half the state, and she…got out more, I guess you could say.”

She glanced my way, and I nodded my support.

“She was something of a social butterfly, and she was happy. Not all the time, of course—no one’s happy all the time. She and Will got into a few legendary fights, and her temper was quick, but whatever emotions Morgan felt were there for the world to see. She was always brave like that.” She turned toward me. “I always envied that about you. You were never scared to speak up and fight for what you wanted. You never ran away from the hard things like I did.”

It took all the energy I could muster to hold her gaze while trying to remember the girl she described.

“And now?” Dr. Circe prompted.

“You’re quiet,” Sam said to me, as if it was just the two of us and we weren’t in my third session of therapy for complicated grief. “You hide your emotions, and I don’t know if it’s because you’re incredibly strong or scared that the people who love you can’t handle what’s inside.”

I focused on my joined hands that rested in my lap.

“She’s avoiding the rest of our friends, which is something she never would have done before Will died, and I wish she didn’t feel like she had to. She’s drawn so far into herself that she’s basically a few cats shy of a cliché, and she won’t open herself up to even the slightest possibility that she might be happy again someday.”

Because it’s not possible. I kept the thought to myself.