My chest went tight, the same cold shiver from that morning in the basement.
I didn’t ask questions that felt like traps. I didn’t lecture. I didn’t say “think positive.”
I wrote: Stay in the car. Put both feet on the ground. Can you call someone who cares about you—right now? A friend, a sibling? If not, I can sit here with you while you call a hotline or emergency services.
I didn’t feel heroic. I felt terrified. Like I was holding a rope and praying the other end didn’t slip.
He wrote back: I don’t want to be a burden.
That word.
Burden.
The word Leo used.
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