It wasn't until her last question that Ford realized that Jemima knew they were not just talking about Tycho anymore. Up until then it could have been argued either way, but that question paired with the heart-wrenching noise she'd made in her throat made it clear that she was expecting something worse. But she still didn't have the full shape of it — didn't know the magnitude of what she was asking. She thought he could just tell her where he'd been before the coat room, like it was that simple, like there was only one thing to say.
"Jemima," he said, and wrapped up in that word was every sort of desperation:I'm so sorry and please don't make me say it all and half a dozen things between. But he knew he would have to tell her at least some version of it, because she was miserable and incredulous. He couldn't have walked away from her like this. It was only partly a matter of emotion: it would have been dangerous to leave her like this, volatile. She had said earlier she wouldn't leave him, but there were no guarantees in her expression now. How much damage could she do if she went to her parents now, armed with the things she had learned last night, and said my husband has secrets he won't tell me? So he had to tell her, but if he had been sure before that she would hate him forever then how much more ruined would their marriage be once she knew?
"Jemima, I'll — I'll tell you," he said. Behind his back he had been holding on to her doorknob, just for something to anchor himself, and he gripped it so tightly now that his fingers hurt. "But you have to listen while I explain everything, so you can — so you can understand."
He was not sure there was any real chance of that, but at least if he tried going through it all she would... maybe not think quite as terribly of him as she would if he just dropped it at her feet, the admission that he was a criminal and had knowingly blown up her life to salvage his.
"Jemima," he said, and wrapped up in that word was every sort of desperation:I'm so sorry and please don't make me say it all and half a dozen things between. But he knew he would have to tell her at least some version of it, because she was miserable and incredulous. He couldn't have walked away from her like this. It was only partly a matter of emotion: it would have been dangerous to leave her like this, volatile. She had said earlier she wouldn't leave him, but there were no guarantees in her expression now. How much damage could she do if she went to her parents now, armed with the things she had learned last night, and said my husband has secrets he won't tell me? So he had to tell her, but if he had been sure before that she would hate him forever then how much more ruined would their marriage be once she knew?
"Jemima, I'll — I'll tell you," he said. Behind his back he had been holding on to her doorknob, just for something to anchor himself, and he gripped it so tightly now that his fingers hurt. "But you have to listen while I explain everything, so you can — so you can understand."
He was not sure there was any real chance of that, but at least if he tried going through it all she would... maybe not think quite as terribly of him as she would if he just dropped it at her feet, the admission that he was a criminal and had knowingly blown up her life to salvage his.
Set by Lady!