"She," a dramatic first syllable, a pointed finger, "was acting a menace who required discipline, and it was you who pushed me away while she spiralled beyond our control. Out the door, out of town."

They've had this fight. Echoing around their increasingly cluttered townhouse, usually smothered out when someone's patience extinguishes. Some other wound, now, bleeding freely beneath the surface. Confessing on his knees to his feelings of abandonment, dismissed. Claudia, Claudia, Claudia.

"And then you hid in it, your sorrow. I could not come near it without some nasty little comment, or better yet, your silence. La putain de tempête sans fin de ton silence."