I barely hear Edward's words as he bids them goodbye, something about "emotional" and "needs rest".
A few minutes later, I'm in my jacket again and Edward's in his at the front door.
Edward's arm is around my waist protectively, comfortingly as he leads us out through the cold and to the car.
When we get in, I sit there silently, the sobbing having died done into sniffles.
Edward's hands are on the handle, almost white in his effort to control his anger.
For a moment, that scares me and I hate it, because I know that he's not angry at me, but at the situation… at what I've been through.
I reach out for his hand, both wanting to comfort and desperate for his comfort.
He lets me hold his hand for the drive home.
Next up, we've got talking about fears!
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