“I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” I say, apologizing as soon as I process her words.

I watch her as she rests her head on my shoulder, and that’s when it clicks—why I heard her crying this morning. She was remembering her parents.

“How long ago did they die?” I ask in a whisper.

“It’s been eleven years,” she replies, a single tear sliding down her cheek.

“How did it happen?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.

“In a fire… It was awful.”

I fall silent, not ...