She sits on the bed next to him—close enough to feel his warmth, but not close enough to touch him. Her hands grip the duvet, visibly shaking, but she doesn’t care. She wants him to see how this is hurting her, how the idea of his leaving makes her sick to her stomach. She’d thrown up twice the night before. Despite her weakness, he is still, stoic, a sheet of ice clinging to the glacier he’d built in his mind.