He came and sat down on the couch beside me, his body collapsing in exhausted defeat. He didn’t say anything; he only sighed and stared at the ceiling. I should have said something. It would’ve been the nice thing to do, to prevent the awkward silence from suffocating us. Something simple like, “I’m sorry about your uncle.” But I let the seconds tick past and he continued to stare and I waited too long and I was awkward and scared. It was too much for me, yes, for me, and I finally got up and left him there to sit in the hopeless silence I could not fix.

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