Silent tears stream from your eyes.
From mine, too.
I'm not sure how I'm going to fix this.
If I can even fix anything.
The bright light in this situation is that you're alive.
You're home.
I will fight for you with my last dying breath.
I just don't know what it's going to take to put you back together again.
I'm worried that they have broken you irreparably.
I reach for your hand.
Your hand grips mine so tightly it hurts.
It feels like you're clinging on to me for dear life.
Maybe you are.
Maybe being home is the only hope of saving you.
They talk of assisting us with anything we may need in the months to come.
They load me down with form after form of paperwork.
Sign here, initial there.
Know that you can be incarcerated if you should feel the need to reveal what you've learned here today.
But how can we keep this a secret?