Alexandra Dellarosa's POV “Roseville, please.” I begged, staring back at her to show that I felt what she felt, at the very least. My eyes searched hers for something, recognition, understanding, anything to prove that the pain between us was shared, not one-sided. I continued to grip her hands, hoping desperately that calm would return to her. My fingers held tighter than before, not out of force but out of fear, as if letting go might shatter what little steadiness we had left.I watched her eyes soften, hands dropping to cover her face before she broke down again. Her cries were deep and throaty, reflecting what she'd pent up all of this time. The tears had a familiarity to them, one that was strange and unprecedented, but there nonetheless and was to be taken as it was. So that was what I did. I accepted it. I opened up, taking her in my hands, and crying right along with her. I let go, no longer holding back, my arms tightening around her fragile frame as if I could steady both
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