She stopped twisting the socks and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand.

Then she started to cry.

It wasn’t a loud, angry cry.

It was a slow, sleepy weeping that shook her thin shoulders.

I got up from the chair and leaned over the raised metal bed rail.

I wrapped my arms gently around her back.

The fierce, protective anger I’d been carrying downstairs melted away.

I rested my chin lightly on top of her head.