Her thumbs made gentle circles on the top of his hand, letting him talk and not trying to pressure him. It was okay to cry, but she did not say this outloud, it sounded patronizing no matter what tone you used, so she tried to say it without words.
Standing, still moving slowly as to not put him on edge or have him expect an attack--growing up with someone who punched when startled could do that--she walked around the desk to stand up by him, "Then you persevere, you craft a new family. Make a new home that cannot be taken." Pulling a smaller chair over from against the wall she sat close enough to him that he could easily wheel over to her, but not enough that it would be suffocating.
A hand rested lightly on his shoulder, contrasting to her her steady but gentle words and the fierce light in her eyes brought on by a belief like steel that what she said was attainable. But one thing her eyes were lacking was pity, from start to finish. Her arms were open, a silent invitation for a hug, if he wanted it.