Bad news is a feeling that arrives like an executioner in your chest before the words are ever spoken. It’s a look. A sad smile. It’s an invisible poison. And no words can soften the blow after that first wordless hit.

“Thanks, Meg.” I set my phone down.

“No …” Avery’s forehead and palms press to my back. “Don’t say it … please don’t say it.” Another sob breaks from her chest.

I twist my torso, and she falls into my lap with her hands covering her face.

“I’m sorry, Ave.”

“No, no, no …” Her body shakes as I pull her closer, a ball of brokenness on my lap.

The door to the room creaks. I glance up. The dim light from the hall behind Sydney makes it hard to see her face, but I don’t miss her hand covering her mouth. No words are needed.

Unlike Avery, Sydney breaks slowly … silently … until she’s hunched down like she might vomit.

I remember this moment with my mom. It’s when this space in your heart feels most raw, hollowed, yet heavy—like grief rushes in to fill the void. And there is a void, no matter what anyone says. We don’t remember them in our heart, we remember them in our mind. All the heart can do is feel, and when someone dies, the only thing left to feel is pain.

“I’m sorry …” It’s all I can say. It’s all that anyone can say.

When Avery realizes my words are not just meant for her, she glances up and flies off my lap. “Syd …” Avery envelopes her sister, and they collapse the rest of the way to the floor.

An audible cry escapes from Sydney.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, resisting the urge to fix the unfixable.

Avery has my shirt on, but I’m naked beneath the sheet, so I wrap it around my waist and grab my shorts, slipping into them. Squatting next to them, I rest my hand on Avery’s back. “I’ll be in the living room. Take the bed. Let me know what you need from me.”

She doesn’t respond. They cling to each other—sobbing and shaking.

“He-he’s gone …”

I cringe, rubbing the back of my neck as Sydney’s words bleed behind me.

Easing onto the sofa, I bring up Deedy’s number and hit the green button.

“Jake?” Deedy answers on the first ring. She’s in a different time zone and an early riser. “Oh my gosh, I forgot to call you back. Was it important? It’s early there—what’s wrong? Something must be wrong. Please tell me nothing has happened to Avery.”

“Swarley died.”

A few seconds of silence steal the line.

“What?” It’s barely a whisper.