It took every ounce of willpower she had not to flinch when he stared at her with eyes that were so filled with rage she could very nearly taste it. She stayed where she was, though, managing to not step down nor away from him. She had made her decision and, no matter how much it might hurt, she knew it was the only real option she had remaining. They couldn't be together, not like this, and the fact that he didn't realize it only served to prove her point even more. Anakin would have understood her reasons. He would have commended her for them, for standing firm on her beliefs. They were beliefs he had shared with her, once.
Clearly, that wasn't to be again, though. And even as his words cut her far deeper than the glass ever could, and even as her hair surged with the force of the wind that kept her in place in order to preserve her own life, Padmé refused to yield.
It wasn't until he was gone, the glass once more on the ground and the door closed, that she finally allowed her tears to fall. Tears of heartache and sorrow, loss and grief, pain and suffering. Tears for a love that had once been so pure and untainted, for a man who had once been so good. She cried for it all, and then some. For Luke and Leia, who would never know the love she and their father had shared. For their unborn, now dead child, who never had the opportunity to even see the first stirrings of life. Slumped on the floor, oblivious to the shards of glass that sliced at her clothing and left small cuts wherever her bare flesh might tough, Padmé cried.
And when her tears had finally ended, when she had nothing more to offer, she slowly rose to her feet and began the process of rebuilding her new life. Alone.