_{[She shakes her head back and forth slowly, staring downwards at her wet boots and the pinkish water in the basin. Her shoulders are quaking for real now.]}

I know it's not my fault... but... I still-- ... I still shoulda said something sooner, I-- ... he was here for months before I said anything, I could've told him ages ago, and-- I-- ... I dunno, been able to-- ... _{[She makes some vague gesture with one arm-- or elbow, more accurately, she wasn't quite ready to take her hands out of that towel-- and sniffs, trying to find the words. But eventually she just shakes her head in disgust.]}

I was too late.

I was always too late.

It's just like--this-- this is just like when-- got home, and-- he was-- walked in and he was in his chair, but-- ... not right, and--

_{[If the sharp gasps that had started to slip between her words weren't hint enough that she was starting to crack, then the way her voice broke and she slumped forward in her seat like a marionette with its strings cut, forehead to knees, was proof enough. A horrid sob wracks her whole body.]}