Anya's face was a study in sorrow. Her eyes, usually so bright, were now clouded with tears that tracked crystalline paths down her cheeks. Her delicate mouth was pursed in a look of deep, wounded grievance that twisted a knot in Marcus's gut.
"Anya, I…"
He fumbled for a tissue, quickly pulling a handful from his pocket and offering them to her. But Anya ignored the gesture, the tears continuing to fall, a silent, eloquent protest.
"Anya, please don't cry. I wasn't yelling at you. I was just… frustrated. It wasn't about you."
"You were a complete jerk, Marcus."
Her voice was thick, but the accusation was clear. She still refused the tissues, letting the tears speak for her.
"I know. I was wrong. I'm sorry."
'You idiot. You have no right to take your own failures out on her.'
The self-recrimination was a cold wave, washing over him. What had he been thinking?
"Anya, I'm so sorry."
