"I love you," she echoes softly, although she still can't look at him, still keeps her gaze focused on the book in her hands. Her eyes feel hot and dry, probably from keeping them open so wide in an attempt not to cry, and when the door closes behind him, Maeve finally allows herself to blink.

The tears come quick and silent and she brushes her face with the back of her hand. The TV is still on and Maeve jabs at the remote control to turn it off, wanting to shut off the stupid sound of revving car engines.

The silence is worse, but there's not much else she can do.