Sunshine cries herself out, until her sobs subside into quiet, exhausted misery. In the near-silent room, she listens to Autor's gentle breathing as the last of her tears stick to her wet eyelashes and blur her vision.

('I'm so sorry.')

Very slowly and gently, Rae shifts Autor so she can stand, lifting him in her arms. The boy doesn't eat enough even when he hasn't starved himself for three days; even in her emotionally exhausted state, he is easy to carry over to the bed.

('I'm sorry. I didn't know.')

Almost mechanically, she takes off his shoes and loosens his collar, then covers him with a blanket so he won't get cold as he sleeps. The tea tray lies forgotten and cold by the bedside. Rae settles in the chair, though she isn't sure why she doesn't just leave. Some part of her says she should keep watch, but another, nastier part says, 'Against what? Haven't I already done enough damage? Perhaps someone should keep watch against me.' She stays, anyway. Even if some of this damage is her fault, she will not abandon him now.

('Please forgive me.')

For a long time, the only sound in the room is the quiet, sleep-steady breathing from the boy in the bed. If Rae sleeps, she doesn't remember it. She leaves at first light, unable to stand it any longer.