Worry crossed Isabella’s face when she saw that I was rubbing away tears from my eyes. She stood from her seat and laid a warm, comforting hand on my shoulder.
“Thank you so much for your help back there,” I said, wiping the last of the wetness from my cheeks. “What are you doing here?”
The pack prison was no place for someone with such high status as her.
“I'm glad I could help,” Isabella replied. “I was out on an early morning run, and I saw your car driving by. I came over to check on how you're doing.” She paused. There was sympathy shining through her warm eyes. “How's your father? Is he alright?”
I swallowed and simply shook my head. My dad's words kept running through my head on repeat.
‘Jasmine, I don’t think they will ever let me out of here.’
I opened my mouth to confide in her. There was a strong desire to tell someone and help release a little of the burden his words had weighed me down with.
