The words your place sound like another language coming from his mouth. Katriina nods, unable to speak. Those words are like a hairline fracture in a load-bearing wall, spidering through her, branching into multiple fissures until she knows that one small tap, one tiny breath of wind will cause her to crumble.

Shawn walks out the door, but then turns around and walks back in. “I just need to know one thing,” he says. “Why, Katriina? Why would you hurt yourself like that?”

Katriina feels the world fall out from under her, and for a moment she is floating, untethered, in a vast, unknown galaxy. Then just as quickly she tumbles unceremoniously back down to Earth. She opens her mouth to speak, but no words come out. I don’t know, she means to say. But instead, she says, “I don’t know how else to get it all out.”

Shawn nods, his eyes red. “I know what you mean,” he says. “I sometimes feel like that, too.” He flicks his finger against the label of the beer bottle. “Like now. With losing…with losing the baby and everything. I can’t…” The label tears off in his fingers, and he stares at it uncomprehendingly, as though he’s just carelessly ripped a wing from a butterfly.

Before Katriina can help herself, she is sobbing, her whole body shaking, and Shawn sits down next to her and puts his arms around her and he is crying, too, and all she can think is, I can’t do this, I have to stop this, even though she already knows they can’t stop, they are past the point of no return, they might just end up crying forever.

She squeezes her eyes tight and then opens them again. “Shawn, we can’t do this. The boys are right outside.” But his face is in her hair and she can feel his pain radiating from every pore in his body, so she takes a shuddering breath and pulls him closer, just for a minute. Just for one more minute. Over his shoulder she stares at the television screen, and through the blur of her tears she sees the pitcher is about to throw the ball. He is staring down the hitter, he is adjusting his cap, he is winding up, he is pitching.

And then he is gone.

In his place, a photo of Kate appears on the screen. No, no, this can’t be happening. Katriina fights the urge to scream. This isn’t fair. She has managed to avoid the video for this long, she can’t watch it now. And yet she can’t bring herself to look away. What new things could they possibly be saying about the Conqueror of Kakabeka? What great insights could they have had in the last twenty-four hours? Then she realizes they are not talking about the video at all.

“Shawn,” she whispers as the image changes. “Shawn, look.”