"So that's why… my wife, my love, my Primrose…"
Edmund's eyes softened, and his voice slowly melted into something warm and tender, barely above a whisper. "…you can cry as much as you need to. If your heart hurts, or even if your body hurts… you don't have to hold it in."
He lifted his hand and gently brushed her cheek with his thumb. "And just so you know… I will never make fun of you for crying. Not now. Not ever."
Edmund had always known Primrose was someone who cried easily. Even Lazarus used to tell him, half helpless, half fond, that his daughter truly cried far too much.
At first, he thought that perhaps Lazarus was exaggerating. But after marrying PrimrosPrimrose shook her head lightly. "No," she said. "You've never been angry with me because of that."
Instead, Edmund would either pull her close or simply sit beside her in silence, waiting patiently until she felt better.
