“Aiden,” she says, so quietly I barely hear. “Yeah.” Another sniffle, and then three little words: “My heart hurts.” So does mine. But I sigh heavily. “I know.” I reach out without thinking to stroke the top of her head, but I freeze when my fingers are inches away. I debate for only a second before giving in and closing the distance. Sometimes it’s best to follow your instincts, especially in situations that are as emotionally sensitive as this. So I stroke her hair lightly, feeling the softness, the warmth. “Let yourself grieve,” I say. “It might take some time.”
