Jason read his grandmother's email in the internet café, his eyes brimming, trying to stifle his tears. He had a moment's sardonic amusement – he would never have cried for a mere injury in rugby or running. Those were to be endured in silence, without complaint. But the grief of having a piece of himself wrenched out and thrown away was unendurable. He knew that the members of his rugby or running teams would have been—not dismissive, nor contemptuous, neither of those—but puzzled and alarmed that he should show his grief like this.
Jason was past caring. His grandmother's words showed him just how much he was missing and was missed, and yet he knew he couldn't go home. Not yet, not while the memories were still fresh. For the first time he understood what a broken heart was. It felt exactly like that, as if his heart had been snapped in two. The ache was almost physical it was so strong.
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