Adam was genuinely a bit at a loss. He'd always been the one being pampered by girls. Since dating Bertha Swift, he had tried hard to be a competent boyfriend, but he had no experience whatsoever with his girlfriend crying.
If it had been someone else, he might have just walked away, but because it was Bertha Swift, he couldn't bear to see her sad and didn't know why she was crying, leaving him so anxious that he was like an ant on a hot pan.
"Bertha, don't cry." Adam couldn't use his palm to wipe the tears off Bertha's cheeks. His heart was in a panic, secretly annoyed with himself for taking Bertha to see the children, which had stirred up her sorrow.
Bertha Swift, feeling the roughness of Adam's palm, reached out to hold his big hand, "I'm fine."
But Adam didn't think she was fine. If she was fine, why cry?
