The guilt comes then, and with it, a flash of whitehot anger, sharp and overwhelming and gone almost as quickly as it came.

"Listenin's about the only way I can be supportive, though," I point out, quiet and tired, already, and we've only just made it to the restaurant. I'm not hungry, anymore, but that hardly matters.

"If it was somebody else, it'd be easier, I just..." I shrug. He said he doesn't want an apology, so I swallow it down before it manages to work its way out.