"No, that can't be right. That can't possibly be right. You did it wrong. It's a mistake, Angela." The words echoed in my head. It's not possible. Numbers are running through my head, automatically calculating the odds. Not possible. I repeat this to myself, as an unfamiliar ache pulses in my chest. I lean my elbows on the glass surface of my desk as I grip the tarnished metal in my hands, as if somehow latching onto this artefact will bring her back. My knuckles turn white, and I'm shaking. It isn't until a drop of water hits the glass that I realise I'm shaking from sobs. The ache in my chest blossoms into full-blown pain, and I gasp for air. Why did you leave me? Why couldn't you have stayed? The feeling of abandonment and the unbearable loneliness from my childhood floods my entire body, and I feel as if I'm fifteen again. My head is bowed, hands still clutching the belt buckle as if it's a talisman. Mom, I need you. God, I miss you so much. Logically, I realise that the remains must be my mother, but emotionally? Emotionally, if this is what it is to 'feel', as Booth always says, then I'm not sure I like it at all.