Peter... [The name comes out like a groan, a noise of pain. How is she supposed to explain ten years worth of doubts that spiraled into a reality even worse than she imagined for all those years? She rubs at her eyes, trying to clear them enough to at least drop her hand. She takes another deep breath.]

I spent years raising the child that we were supposed to care for together. When she was sick or hurt, I had to shoulder that alone. When I was sick, I still had to care for her. She would crawl into my bed at night and ask when her papá was coming home... And those were the easy questions. When she would ask why... That was harder.

Even if I could ever forgive him for ten years of heartache... It wouldn't matter. He's-- [The words catch in her throat.] He's dead, Peter. He doesn't belong here, and I didn't spend all these years putting myself back together just to-- to fall apart again when he leaves.