“Can you come pick me up?”

“Where are you?” she asked immediately.

I gave her the address, and she replied, “I’m on my way.”

Twenty-five minutes later, her small sedan pulled up to the curb.

Laura ran out, took one look at my face, and wrapped her arms around me.

“Oh, Hannah,” she murmured.

I cried against her shoulder as the rain tapped against the restaurant windows.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.