Feng Suyin held Yilin and didn't say anything for a while. She had worked in hospitals for years and she still didn't know what to do with a crying child. There was no procedure for this. No protocol.
She just held her. It was the only thing she knew how to do and it turned out to be enough.
Xuan sat beside them with his hand on his sister's back, steady and quiet, the same way he was always steady and quiet. Yilin's sobs went in waves: hard, then softer, then almost nothing. Feng Suyin kept her hand moving in slow circles, breathing evenly, trying to give the girl something to match her breathing to.
After a while, Yilin's grip eased. Her head got heavier. The hiccuping slowed.
Feng Suyin looked at her face — cheeks wet, lashes stuck together, mouth slightly open in the boneless way of someone dropping off to sleep mid-cry. She brushed the hair back from her forehead.
"It's alright," she said quietly. "You're safe. I'm here."
