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I just have to try. There’s no other option.

“Are we getting her, mama?”

“Yes, baby girl. It’s not safe for her to be walking in this weather.”

“Oh, yeah,” she says, nodding like she knows just as much as I do. “So not safe.”

I pull over, just ahead of where she’s walking. Every ounce of my focus is latched onto what I can see through my mirror. She freezes when she notices my car in her periphery. I catch the moment she glances up, and realizes just what car it is.

I almost expect her to turn around, and start running in the opposite direction.

My breath catches when she instead starts forward, and only stops again when she’s standing at my passenger door. I almost forget to unlock it, with how caught off guard I feel.

As soon as it clicks, she’s opening the door and plopping herself down into my passenger seat.

My first instinct is to question if this is really happening. I’ve been missing her face, wishing I could see her, let alone be near her for so many weeks now. I think I started to convince myself it would never happen. Yet somehow, she’s right here. I can smell her perfume, despite how drenched she is from the rain. It wasn’t enough to rid her of the musky cherry scent.

I look away from her, hoping to hide the way tears well up in my eyes.

I can’t believe that, of all things, is really making me cry. It’s so ridiculous, but it makes so much sense at the same time.

From the corner of my eye, I watch her pull the door shut. Her fingers go to work angling every vent towards her body, and she turns the heat up to the max without checking to see if that was okay with me. It’s more than okay, because I can hear her teeth chattering, and I know that wrapping her up in my arms isn’t on the table.

“What are you doing?” I ask in a quiet voice. As if speaking too loud might make her realize just who I am, and whose car she’s in.

She doesn’t answer me. Her hands rub together in a desperate attempt to build enough friction to warm them.

“What happened to your car?” I ask.

She doesn’t answer again.

“It’s not safe to walk out there,” Dahlia tells her.

“You’re right. It’s not,” she responds.

I didn’t realize my heart could break anymore that it already was, but hearing her voice does it.

I put the car in drive, and decide I need to be moving. Partially so she can’t run out back into danger, and partially because I need something else to focus on.

But it’s not enough to calm my churning stomach.

“Are you okay?” I try again.

Nothing.

I don’t know what I’m expecting, but I keep going.

“Were you just headed home?”

She nods, and I’m relieved that I get any response at all.

“Why were you walking in the rain?” Dahlia asks the question this time, and I smile. “It’s too cold.”

Kara turns to face her, and the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding rushes out of me.

“You don’t like the rain?”

“No,” Dahlia replies. “Well, actually sometimes I do. It’s just cold when you walk in it.”