We yell until each of us is hollow. Christine is sobbing. Her sobs are hoarse and guttural. She is empty and has no more words and I no longer have to fend against them.
She shivers and I touch her. She is cold and I fetch a sweater from the bedroom. With a handful of kitchen towel she mops at her face, at the snot and tears.
The sweater is too big and sitting she pulls at herself from inside. I place my hands on her shoulders and press down gently, an effort to still her.
I feel remorse, it fills the hollow inside, I am full to brimming with it when Christine turns, ready for regret.