She sniffs hard, rubbing her cheek, and it’s so difficult not to try and offer up some well-meaning words of comfort, but I don’t want to offend her by trying. Because nothing is going to give her comfort and nothing is going to make it better, and I’m not going to insult her by pretending otherwise. ‘It fucking sucks,’ I say. Because that’s the truth. Because she needs her grief to be acknowledged. And because as a friend that’s all I can hope to do. ‘It fucking sucks,’ she nods.
