“I’m sorry,” she said, her arms around my shoulders.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, while her shoulders wracked.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and I was sure it was the last one.
“I’m sorry,” and I was wrong.
“I’m sorry,” she couldn’t find any other words.
Neither could I.
I hated this. I hated being told I’d been right. I hadn’t even wanted to say ‘I told you so’ and here the words were ash in my mouth, put there by apologies. All I wanted, really, was for her to feel she could stop apologising, stop crying, stop feeling so bad.