Will might have guessed as much, but his heart still ached to hear it. "I'm sorry," he said, and his voice, though quiet, was weighted with the guilt of eleven weeks. No— longer than that. The guilt had been seeded months before, when she'd confessed her plan to make a prison of her home, when he'd let her lay the bricks on her own. When he'd let her believe their safety was her burden alone to shoulder. "Is there... owt I can do?"