Adela felt a tear slip between her lashes. She swiped it away and turned away from Gustav. She felt another tear flow from her eyes, and another, and another. Her hands were not enough to hold them back—certainly not in the moment that Gustav placed his hands on her shoulders, turned her around, and pulled her to him. She buried her face in the fabric stretched over his chest and felt his chin resting on the top of her head.
He felt her try to push away from him, but he tightened his hold around her.
"Don't fight me, please," he rasped.
That seemed to be enough to quell her resistance, and she cried in earnest. He felt every sob in the depths of his soul. So much pain. So much grief. And it was not for him; it was for someone else—another man, his cousin's son. It hurt. The hurt was among the worst pain he had ever felt.
