Sitting there on Marina's balcony, with the morning air cooling my skin and the weight of her words heavy in my chest, I found myself hoping that I was right.
Because the alternative—that Marina's mother had simply not cared enough to be present—was too sad to contemplate.
Impossible, actually. One won't invest so much in children if they didn't love them.
"I can tell from your words..." I started speaking, offering Marina a warm and genuine smile that I hoped conveyed the sincerity of my feelings.
I fought the urge to reach out and touch her shoulder for safety reasons:
For one thing, I did not want to overstep any boundaries she had not explicitly invited me to cross.
And for another, I had a sinking feeling that she might break my hand if I tried anything too familiar.
