Tears brim her eyes. “Sorry,” she apologizes, wiping the corners. I fucking hate when she says she’s sorry for her feelings—for stupid fucking things that don’t ever need apologies. I stand up and kiss her temple, knowing my brother is consumed with his girlfriend’s wellbeing. And I hold the back of her head and whisper in her ear. “You can cry if it hurts, sweetheart. It doesn’t make you a little girl.”
