She stood at that place and felt it breaking.
He stood before her, wavering.
She smiled, just a little. He always wavered, made her think there was a chance, a choice. She wondered if he believed it. Perhaps he did, though. He was only a man; he did not feel the breaking, the constant recycling and replaying of this moment at this crossroads. He did not have any idea how many times he’d chosen incorrectly.
“What?” he said.
She tried not to laugh. He probably believed he’d only make this choice once – that he had a choice.
She took his hand. For a moment, she just held it, tried to preserve it in its pristine beauty. He would choose and they would destroy him for it. No matter how many times she tried to fix this image in her mind, it eventually got replaced.
“It’s nothing,” she said. “I will follow you.”