“Do not talk to me about your heart,” she had told me, and stupidly I obeyed. If I had possessed the courage rudely to complicate her life, it might be my children that she protected from the storm. But I had wanted with such intensity for her to be happy, that I pretended my love was infatuation, and hid my face when I couldn’t keep my heart off it. Stupid. Now that she was outside the dome, I wanted to turn back time so that she would be in it, with or without me. Stupid.