“So”, she says, sitting next to me, patting my shoulder. “You want to talk about it?”
“Okay, do you want to just sit here quietly, then?”
And so we do, without speaking, just like that night after Lucy’s funeral.
Sophie rests her head on my shoulder, and just like last time, when our world had cleaved and split in two, we sit here and wait until we have the strength to get back up.