He let her help his wounds, gaze not shifting from it's middle distance. He wanted to believe her. He would have loved to latch onto what she was saying. He'd believed it himself, it was the fairytale he continually told himself to get through the day, to make it through the nights.
But as time had gone on, she'd just slipped farther and farther away. He wanted to believe what Jo was saying, but she hadn't been there. And he didn't like that she seemed to be dismissing what he was saying, dismissing what he'd been through. It hurt in it's own way, like she was saying that he just hadn't believed hard enough, or hadn't done his part to help. Or, alternately, like what he'd been through didn't matter.
His voice was barely audible when he spoke again. "I look into her eyes and she isn't there. And I search, and I search, and I want her to be there, and sometimes I think she is - and then she rakes her nails across my face." He let his eyes fall shut. "She did leave me, ma'am. She left me, and left me, and dragged me along behind her ghost while she did it, because I said I'd never leave her."