His first impulse had been to shake the hand off, to stay alone, but he didn't really want that at all. The fear of being alone had been the only thing that had guided the knife to his throat at all, and when he recognized the rough fingers, he sat up and wrapped his arms around his wife, pulling her close. He'd thought he could do all right and not cry when he saw her, but found himself quickly breaking that promise when he started to cry into her shoulder. They were great, gulping sobs, and it was all he could do to try to speak between them. "Don't - don't go - 'm sorry and I - suck."