Sophia didn’t interrupt. She turned off the stove, moving the skillet away from the flame, and walked over to the table. She sat in the chair right next to mine, her presence bringing with it the faint, calming scent of vanilla. She listened with a profound, unmoving intensity, her eyes never leaving my face. When my voice finally cracked and the torrent of words ran dry, I buried my face in my hands, bracing myself for the awkward silence, or worse, the pity.
Instead, I felt a gentle warmth wrap around my wrists. Sophia softly pulled my hands away from my face, forcing me to look at her.
“Liam,” she said, her voice dropping to a low, soothing register that seemed to vibrate straight to my core. “Look at me.”
I raised my eyes, my vision slightly blurred.
