her wrist felt tiny in his grip. and for a fraction of a moment he had the overpowering urge to stop right there, turn around and pull her into his arms. to hold her against him and feel her yield, adhere. to bury his face in her hair, to softly stroke her skin, to tuck back that always errant curl on her forehead, to brush his lips tenderly on her forehead and say, “shh… shh… don’t worry, i am here.…
