Page 164 of Becoming Us

I nodded. His lips trembled before he bit down on them. I reached for his waist, and he pulled me into his arms, holding me tight against his chest—like he wanted to shield me from something.

“Atty…”

“Don’t comfort me, Noah. Don’t make it smaller. Let’s just be sad, okay? We’ll have a sad morning together. That’s fine.”

“Okay,” I whispered, tightening my arms around him. “We’ll be sad together.”

He nodded into my hair while the water rushed into the tub beside us. We stayed like that until his breathing had slowed and the sniffling stopped. Then we climbed in together. We didn’t say much—just sat in the warmth, side by side, both of us processing different versions of the same story.

It was a beautiful thing. To feel safe enough to share this with someone.

Instead of hiding.

Instead of running.

It felt strange. But right. Everything with him felt right.

And once we’d both settled some, I told Atty about the big ones. The things that stayed with me. I told him about the time with the cash, and then all about River that night—what I’d done. I told him about my dad getting sick. About her disappearing. About the lies. About the fight. The slap. The way I started to feel myself becoming her. I even told him about the bad therapist. And the voices that had always haunted me.

And for the first time in my life—even counting Sam—I talked about the pills. About how they circled my brain like vultures. About the hospital. About everything that had really been happening back then.

Now he knew. He knew where I’d been when he met me. Why I’d left before I could fall too far and drag him down with me. That I had already been running out of time.

And as his arms wrapped around me, I knew I’d done the right thing.

I’d trusted him. Completely.

And for once, I could let the wound close.

Let it scar.

Let myself move on.

The Mass had been formal and uneventful. Ilana stood and said a few words again. This time, I actually managed to listen and even smiled at her thoughtfulness. I didn’t offer to speak, and no one asked me to.

Our mother had planned a lunch afterward, some attempt to wrap grief in civility. But after the last twenty-four hours, I didn’t have it in me to sit at a table and pretend I could eat.

I knew what I wanted.

What I needed.

Closure.

Outside, the sky had gone a dull gray. We stood in clusters, exchanged polite goodbyes, brief hugs, vague murmurs oftake careandbe well. Then we climbed into the car.

I turned to Atty. “There’s something else I have to do today. Will you come with me?”

He looked at me—really looked—and his blue eyes softened, like he’d already said yes before the words left his mouth. “Do you want me there?”

I nodded without hesitation.

“Then I’m there,” he said, offering a quiet smile.

I leaned forward, tapping the divider. “Change in plans. Can you take us to Calvary Cemetery, please?”

CHAPTER

TWENTY-FOUR