She almost flinches again, but manages to catch it; this is the root of the part of her that can simultaneously believe that she's an asset to everyone around her in whatever community she's standing in, and that everyone else is more important than she is. Everyone else is more precious to the people who mean the most to her.

She wipes angrily at her cheeks, still dry and viciously determined to keep them that way. She clears her throat and forces her voice steady for something she's never told anyone and knows she can't stop now.

"Night before we head for the outpost, I come up to bed to find him packing. And not just his road kit, I mean he is shoving entire dresser drawers into his Army duffel. When I ask what he's doing he says he's leaving." She hates the way the words twist on her, the way she has to work so hard to keep it going, to not linger.

"I ask him why, and he says he just is. That's the way he wants it. I ask him why and he says why are dingleberries brown? It's just the way shit is. I ask him why and tell him I won't let him just leave after everything, thinking he's just panicking, he's just afraid - and he grabs me -" She was never afraid of him. Even then she wasn't. It just hurt more than anything had ever hurt her in her life.

"And he says when he first met me he thought I was the last woman on earth. I'm not. And then he just leaves."