Still, I worry.
I worry that the way people judge him will eventually become the way he sees himself. That if he ever makes a mistake, the hair and the jacket will make it stick harder.
Last Friday night flipped all of that upside down.
The cold was vicious—the kind that seeps into your bones no matter how high you crank the heat.
Emma had just gone back to campus, and the house felt hollow. Noah grabbed his headphones and tugged on his jacket.
“Going for a walk,” he said.
“At night? It’s freezing,” I replied.
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