"It isn't you. It isn't you at all," I said, my attention drifting to the manilla folder. I played with the corner of it, trying to do anything to distract me, something to keep the urge to tell him I'll stay with him at bay. "It's all this," I took the folder in hand, shaking it to try and get my point across. "Your life is full of danger and responsibilities that I know will be pushed onto me if I have anything to do with you. I can't do that to myself— to my family. They need me and I need them, and I won't be able to live peacefully if I have to watch their backs along with mine every second— if I can't even stop to say hello to them because I'll be so busy with responsibilities that I know I won't be able to handle."