He did not need me to make the hard thing smaller before he had even said it; that would only have told him I was afraid of it too.

He needed me to be able to hear it — all of it, whatever it was — without flinching, without my face changing, without becoming one more adult he had to manage the feelings of.

So I made myself still, and I made myself ready, and I told him I was listening, and I meant it.

“Okay,” I said.

“I’m listening.

Whatever it is.

Tell me what happened.”