The door opened, and Max walked in with the tablet already lit, the boys' voices spilling out of it mid-sentence about something, a book, a game, he didn't catch which, because the moment his eyes crossed the room, they found Ruby.
Curled on the floor. Knees drawn up, her mother's photograph still pressed against her chest, her whole body folded small in a way that didn't belong to the woman who'd raised a wine glass and walked out of the study not twenty minutes ago.
"Hey. Hey, baby, what happened?"
He crossed the room in two strides, set the tablet down on the bed without looking at it, and got his arms around her, pulling her against him, holding on the way you hold something you're afraid might come apart in your hands if you let go too soon.
"It's okay." His hand moved over her hair, slow, steady. "It's okay. I've got you. Shh."
She shook against him, the kind of crying that has no shape to it, no rhythm, just grief finding whatever way out it can.
