I stood in the doorway watching Lydia fold my father’s shirts into careful, perfect squares.
« You don’t have to do that, » I told her.
« I know. » She didn’t look up.
Lydia and I had been best friends since we were eleven.
I never imagined how quickly it would all fall apart.
« You don’t have to do that, »
« Thank you for being here, » I whispered. « I don’t know what I’d do without you. »
She finally glanced at me.