The hand is almost too much, because it's comfort that Arthur doesn't deserve. It's a bit too late to avoid crying, but he remains stony-faced and silent, and scrubs away the tears that fall with his sleeve as if they've offended him.

"She did." His voice is bitter and disgusted, almost seeming to come from a different person than the one with wet eyes and rivuleted cheeks. "She would have."

If he'd been worth a god damn as a father. If he'd paid more attention, not gotten so involved in his fucking work, set an alarm, anything.

Now he withdraws his hand, and clasps both in front of him, as the door closes and what holes had formed in the wall are filled back in. And he says forcefully: "We're not talking about this any more."