In fact, Braden knew very well. There was no way Shirley was still in the Stewart's house.
Yet even so, he still vaguely hoped for a miracle.
He found himself ridiculous. He used to be sharp and decisive, and he never did things sloppily. Yet now, he was so shilly-shallied and irrational.
Braden walked into the room and sat on the edge of the bed. His slender fingers brushed past the bedding as if he was caressing her hair, her cheeks, and her fair skin...
Shirley's appearance filled his mind.
All kinds of her flashed across his mind, including when she smiled at him, when she was angry, when she talked back, when she was shy, and finally, when she was disheartened and turned to leave.
He felt like a hole in his heart was caving in, and it was killing him.
"Shit!"
Braden took a deep breath. He felt he couldn't go on like this.