"It's true," Ellie tells him, perhaps to quickly, almost defensive. "I mean, you're right."

He is right, and there's no fucking point in getting sentimental about it. Joel's not her dad. Hell, he doesn't even have any say over what she does, what choices she makes. She's old enough to be making these decisions on her own.

Come to think of it, she always has.

Ellie slides her shirt on over the gown, then does a little shimmying beneath it, slides the gown out from under it. It looks like a trick she's got down pat. She arms herself before she even reaches for her shoes.

Her eyes are prickling, burning, but she's keeping it together.