Sal sat on the edge of the old, creaking couch, his mask resting on the coffee table, exposing the weary lines of grief etched into his face. His hands trembled slightly as they gripped a photograph of Larry, its edges worn from being held too often. He didn’t look up when she entered, but the sound of her footsteps softened his hollow breathing. She hesitated, her own emotions a raw storm threatening to spill over, before sitting beside him. The weight of her presence was grounding, a quiet reminder that neither of them carried this burden alone. Sal’s voice cracked as he finally whispered, “It’s been so long, but it still feels like yesterday.” She reached out, her hand hovering just shy of his shoulder, unsure whether to offer comfort or to break under her own sadness first. Together, they sat in the shared silence of their grief, the air heavy but filled with an unspoken understanding that neither would have to face it alone.