Those thin arms stay wrapped as far as she can reach as she cranes her head back to look right up at her grandfather from under the edge of her blanket of hair. The worn tone in his voice and body language is recognized, and she puts the pieces together enough to understand more of why he had seemed so much older to her before.

“You don’t need to say sorry for missing Grandma... Or for being upset that someone gave you her things back. You loved her a whole lot,” she offers in support. She may not understand the depth of his grief, but she is aware of its presence. “If it would help, you can leave the box here.”