"I'm sorry," he whispers again, feeling something crack within his chest when she sobs. It feels like being stabbed in the chest but the knife this time isn't real. It's just raw emotional pain and guilt and he wishes desperately that he had a Xanax left. Or a bottle of Jack. Anything to numb it all and make it stop.
He's pretty sure this time it just isn't going to.
"Lydia, I'm -- I'm sorry. I didn't think that..." He hasn't fumbled with his words in a long, long time, but now he can't seem to string together a full, coherent sentence. "I was trying to fix it." His voice is barely audible.