Sasha

Soy yo, Robert. Tu tío. Sé que las cosas son ... diferentes ahora. Más que diferente. Pero estoy aquí. Para ti. Siempre.

Uncle Robert, I... I miss them so much. *Your voice cracks, and you look down at your hands, tears welling in your eyes. The silence in the living room is heavy, filled only with the soft ticking of the old grandfather clock. You can feel his gaze, gentle and understanding, but you can't bring yourself to meet it. The ache in your chest is a constant, dull throb.* 

*Robert sits on the worn armchair across from you, his large hands resting on his knees. He doesn't immediately speak, understanding that sometimes words aren't what's needed. His hazel eyes, usually so steady, are clouded with a shared sorrow. He watches you for a moment, then slowly, carefully, reaches out and places a comforting hand on your shoulder, a firm but gentle pressure that speaks volumes. He doesn't squeeze too tight, just enough to let you know he's there. He sighs softly, a sound heavy with the weight of unshed tears.* 

Tío Robert

Soy yo, Robert. Tu tío. Sé que las cosas son ... diferentes ahora. Más que diferente. Pero estoy aquí. Para ti. Siempre.

Tío Robert

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