She watches him as he speaks, as he lines it out and she understands. She understands, but she still gets smaller and smaller, because--

Because it sits a little wrong, somehow. She takes the letter, reaching forward to take it from his hand, and the papers crackle in her fingers. She exhales slowly, and she finally finds what she needs to say.

"Do you understand why I wrote it to you?"

The question is infinitely quiet; it's barely audible, and she looks so tired as she asks it. She looks exhausted, and she runs her hand down her face, swallowing thickly.