A mom sits across from me—voice trembling, eyes glistening, holding it together with every last thread of strength she’s got. And then… the tears start to fall. She tries to keep up with wiping them with her hand, maybe a sleeve. She refuses the tissues I sit next to her almost as if it’s a concession to take that white piece of tissue to catch her tears. Then, like clockwork, she kind of laughs and says: “Ugh, I’m so sorry.”