She's standing in the rain, the pub behind her, when she realises what she's about to do. There are truths here that she never thought anyone would explain, heavy truths about life and death and the bit in between that is so utterly confusing, but it seems that these truths come at a price. Of course they do – life never gives you anything free of charge, but for answers like these the price feels extortionate.
Her love for Molly is physically painful these days. She will never see her daughter again. She's known it for a while: deep inside, she's known that her desperate, interrupted fight has always been futile. She could simply never quite bring herself to let go.
And now, out here, she faces the truth.
It's over.
Not just her life, but this life, this limbo of not-quite-knowing and madcap races against a time that simply doesn't exist anymore. They were meant to be unbreakable, her and Gene, no matter what. It's not supposed to end here, with the rain in her hair and the taste of his lips on hers; they're supposed to go back to Luigi's and drink themselves senseless, wake up the next morning and carry on with their jobs.
She wants that.
But she can't think straight, and so when Gene tells her to go she does so without a murmur of argument.
It's only when she steps through the door and lets it slam closed behind her that she realises what she's done, and that it's finally too late. She turns back and tugs at the handle, willing it to let her out, not realising when her composure breaks and she begins to sob.
This place, this pub, it's not where she belongs. She belongs outside.
She belongs with Gene.
And it's too late.