Decades later, Elias stood in the same park where they had met. The bench was new now, made of polished wood instead of rusted iron. He was older, his hair a shock of white, but he still preferred the rain.
He felt a hand slide into his—smaller now, more fragile, but just as steady. Clara, in a yellow raincoat that had seen better days, smiled up at him. "Still a bit damp," she remarked. Im With You
Clara didn't offer a platitude. She didn't tell him he was wrong or that he was "stronger than he knew." Instead, she moved across the floor and sat right next to him, her shoulder pressing firmly against his. Decades later, Elias stood in the same park
Elias squeezed her hand, feeling the warmth through her glove. "Yeah," he whispered. "But it's okay. I'm with you." He felt a hand slide into his—smaller now,