“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 knowing what else to say. When I realize we still have about half an hour before we reach the hotel, I come to a stop.
“You should get down. I’m getting tired, and we’ve still got a long way to go. I don’t even understand how you walked this far.”
“I-I’m not tired, plus your chest is very comfortable and warm” she mumbles, cli
