"I guess I already knew that," Medora said, tapping her chin. "I just didn't want to admit it. Or maybe… I just didn't have a reason to dwell on it."
Daylan gave her a confused look, his voice laced with concern. "How do you do it? When your father died, you still held yourself together. Even when you cried on my shoulder sometimes, you never showed any anger. Not once."
Medora wore a wide smile as she stared into Daylan's confused eyes. "I'm not good at those kinds of feelings. That's why I have you—to feel my anger for me. And I'll feel yours too, whenever it's too much to carry or too messy to make sense of."
Daylan shook his head, clearly disapproving. "You've said that a million times. It's practically the only answer I ever get when I ask about this."
He let out a breath. "Be honest with me—are you bottling everything up because you think I won't understand?"
