"You don't have to be." Her hand keeps stroking through his hair, gentle, rhythmic. She presses her mouth to the crown of his head.
"I just worry. I love you. I don't know how to help. I think I might say the wrong thing, make it worse." Her hand finds his, fingers twining, squeezing lightly. "You can do this. I know. You're strong and you're brave and you're clever. If it helps to talk, I'll listen. If it hurts too much, then we just sit."