“It’s not that I don’t want to,” he says. “You know that.” My breathing speeds up, and I focus on the kids instead. Watching the ball as it rolls over leaves-covered grass. “I know that. I just wish it would be enough.” His hand lingers on top of mine. “It is.” “It’s clearly not,” I whisper. “You said you felt a lot of guilt, the other day. Is this… do you feel it because of me, too?” “Isabel,” he mutters. “I feel so guilty it’s eating—” The ball comes rolling straight at us.