We are completely soaked when we finally get into the house.
“You’ll catch a cold, if you stay like that,” I tell him. He blushes and stares at our entwined fingers. He doesn’t want to let go, that much is clear. God, is he beautiful. I drop his hand, aching at the desolate expression on his face, and wrap my arms around him, pulling him close. His silence was scary. Raphael has never been a talkative person, not really aggressive either, but he can and will stand up for himself. But at the funeral he said nothing. So all I could do was stand next to him, a silent sentinel, reminding our family of their place. Because there is nobody else left to do that, other than me.