Her nails are dug into her clothes still, and that's what his hand over hers covers first. She looks down, tells herself to breathe, to let it go, it's over.

No one who was there that day wants to talk about it. Those who weren't, can't. She forces herself to leave it where it is in the past, and join Jesus here in the present.

"Yeah," she finally manages, relaxing her grip at least. "Yeah. I'm glad, too."