[Even now, she thinks she's being selfish, absorbing his words, showing him the wounds that plagued her from Briar's passing, her stolen night with Gale, and into the present.

But Gale is Gale. He kept giving and it was keeping her afloat.]

... I think what I hated most about myself was... I can't think of a time where I truly considered his feelings.

He was dying. Of course he was scared. He had times where it was lonely even when he was surrounded by others. Even when he accepted it, it must have been sickening to hear me be angry with him as if he never felt any of those things.

[It's been five years. Amelia doesn't think she's trying to seek absolution or forgiveness. And this room tells her that the latter was freely given.

But what now? What now?]

I wish I didn't hurt him.

[And that was all, a lingering wish that could never be fulfilled.]