More than anything

He feels terrible. She can tell just by looking at him, and she seizes on that fact for a moment, because it's more tolerable than any of the other thoughts tumbling through her mind. He feels terrible, and under any other circumstances, she'd try to reassure him, somehow.

But how can she? The thought of trying to comfort him is as absurd as it is appealing. She might try, but neither of them would be able to stand the attempt.

Better to just leave, quickly, now, before she falls apart.

She steps back, pulling in a breath as if she intends to say something. But no words present themselves, so she turns on her heel and heads for the door, resisting the urge to bolt until she's shut the door quietly behind her.