Hector had spent so much time in his own guilt, that he'd forgotten of what he could say to Andramache if he ever got the chance. He had probably played it in his head a million times, but when he saw her face he went blank. Andramache had been his rock, a voice of reason---but when she'd needed him the most he had destroyed their home. Hector had made an impulsive move that cost them everything. If she didn't forgive him he wouldn't blame her.
The space between them was uncomfortable when he didn't know if she'd even want to see him. The question in her voice he couldn't read if she was happy or upset at seeing him again. He didn't smile, though he was elated to see her. "Andramache." He knew her. He'd always her.