A Comfort Shared
"I really want to be alone right now."
"OK," she says, with a smile and shrug, putting a little bag down on your desk. "I just wanted to give you these. They're the chocolate walnut cookies you love so much."
She moves away, shoulders slumped, and you feel ashamed. You may have lost a wife but she's about to lose a father, and she's still trying to make you feel better.
"Sam?"
She turns, smiles when she sees your outstretched hand, the half cookie inside it.
She sits down beside you and you eat the cookies together, a comfort shared.