Ah, white men and their justifications. Yet, he listened. He always did. He had always been the quiet one. Always listened more than spoke.
"So you have seen I was miserable and that the lake is not an ocean. I do not hide it and neither does this lake but that does not mean you know my story," he said and shook his head. He could have gone on that sometimes asking a person how they felt could already lick some wounds. But he did not. The dead woman did not seem to like his words so why waste more of them?