Her expression slips and cracks like something fragile falling to a cement floor. There's a wide, black, bottomless pool of guilt and grief that's taken up residence in her chest ever since that day. She hasn't been able to do more than glance at it in the six weeks since, but as she stares at him she feels like she's swaying on the edge.

"Oh my God. That's why."

As if in a dream, she hears her own voice.

But that doesn't guarantee whoever framed him would get him, it guarantees we would.

Her eyes are wide with horror and agonized guilt, right before she pushes her face into her hands, unable to look at him. "Fuck!"

It's loaded with self-loathing, as her head shakes and shakes back and forth, trying not to believe it. It feels like she's breaking all over again. "All he had to do was get you in a place where you couldn't run. And I put you there."