I realised, then, what I suppose any sensible person would have known all along. Fancy meals, the right clothes, a tastefully decorated house, even clever conversation – these were not the things that the woman my brother loved needed from him. She’d have appreciated them, sure, but what she needed was a strong and steady heart. A shoulder to rest her weary head on. Not a man with everything sorted, but one prepared to sit with her on a grubby carpet and say, ‘It’s okay. I’m here. Take as long as you need.’
