Frida
Stanley takes a sip of his water and straightens his back against the chair. “Our parents died when we were kids, so I took care of Rose as her guardian.”
I feel a pang of sympathy for Stanley. Losing your parents at a young age is hard enough, but having to shoulder the weight of raising a younger sister too? That’s a kind of strength not everyone has. My fork stills against my plate as I picture him, years younger, trying to be both brother and parent. “I’m sorry, Stanley,” I say softly. “That must have been really hard.”
He shrugs, though I can see the tightness in his jaw. “It was tough, but we got through it. And we have each other, so that’s all that matters.”
I nod, impressed by his resilience. “Your parents must have been really proud of you.”
For a second, his eyes drif
