The words were out of his mouth before he could think of tempering them, Shelagh's eyes going wide, almost as if he had physically slapped her, taking a step back as the last syllable evaporated into the air.
"I see," she said, voice neutral yet laced with an ice he had never felt from her; her eyes hardened as she turned her back to him, walking out of the room without a backwards glance, her stance echoing the anger that swam through her veins.
Patrick instantly regretted the words, his own temper, always so controlled, having bubbled over the surface until he lashed out, taking out his anger on his wife simply because she had been there. He knew it wasn't her fault the patient had been misdiagnosed. Knew that it was his own lack of care that had caused the man to spend too much time waiting until it was too late to do anything for him. The loss, on top of the stress from the thalidomide scandal, had pushed him over the edge. Had made him attack his wife verbally, blaming her, even though all she had done was informed him that the man's wife had requested a coroner's inquest. He bit his lip, scratching the back of his neck roughly before letting out a gust of air. He knew he would need to apologise, but the ire that swam in his blood at the injustice of humanity's condition still lurked too close to the surface to be contained for the time being.
He didn't see his wife again that day, her presence missing from the office and from the house when he finally made it home late in the evening.
"You must have done something very stupid," Timothy said in way of greeting, his spine curled over as he sat at the kitchen table completing his homework. Patrick squinted at his watch in the low light, realising it was after ten, the last case having taken more time than he realised.
"And what, pray tell, makes you say that?" He queried, dropping his bag to the floor as he shrugged out of his coat. The nervous energy he had been surprising since he hurt Shelagh coming back with a vengeance, simmering beneath his skin and making him anxious. If Timothy knew what had occurred, it meant that his words had a stronger and worse impact than he initially thought.
"Mum is asleep in Angela's room," came the reply. Timothy looked up, a frown creasing his brow as he regarded his father, crossing his arms over his chest. Patrick winced, realising how badly he had evidently hurt his wife if she had chosen to sleep in their daughter's room to avoid sharing his bed. "So, what did you do?"
"Oh," he mumbled, raking a hand through his hair. "I… I may have misdirected my anger at your Mum when I should have just kept my mouth shut." Timothy rolled his eyes, closing his school book and sending his father one last glare before he headed for the stairs.
"You'd better fix it. Mum's cooking always goes a bit wonky when she's cross with you," he called, retreating into the darkness of the hallway. Patrick sighed again, wondering how he could fix things as he toed out of his shoes before creeping up the stairs himself. He took a deep breath before nudging Angela's bedroom door open, finding the little girl asleep across his wife's stomach. For her part, Shelagh looked calm in her sleep save for a few worry lines that creased her forehead even in slumber. Stealing himself, he took a deep breath before crossing the carpet, crouching down next to the bed and gingerly shifting Angela onto the vacant portion of the mattress.
Shelagh stirred at the movement, blurry eyes blinking open at him. Patrick leaned down, kissing her in the temple in the weak light of the bedroom, resting his forehead against her's when she didn't immediately pull away, despite the frown that crossed her lips.
"I'm so sorry," he breathed, reaching up to push her hair back behind her ear, cupping her cheek when he finished the motion. "I'm a complete idiot for ever thinking that it was all right to take my anger out on you when the only one at fault in the situation was me. You were just doing your job telling me about the inquest. I'm sorry." The words were soft in the quiet room, whispered to keep Angela asleep and to also convey Patrick's lack of anger now that he had cooled down. "I'll go sleep on the couch, you go to bed." He moved away, standing on creaking knees only to be halted but a tiny hand on his wrist.
"You don't need to do that," Shelagh said. "You can make it up to me by carrying me to bed, I'm exhausted." The words were followed by a sleepy grin as Patrick quickly acquiesced, lifting her tiny frame into his arms and against his chest as he ventured across the hallway, gently depositing her onto the bed as she curled into the blankets. He changed into his pyjamas while stifling a yawn, crawling into bed behind her a few moments later, his arm wrapping around her waist as he pulled her into his chest.
"I really am sorry Shelagh. I had no right to speak to you in such a way when you've been dealing with this whole fiasco as well. Anything you want my Love, anything at all that I can say or do to make it up to you, please, let me know." He felt her lean more heavily against him at the words, taking his hand in her own and guiding it between her legs.
"Well then," she said, voice quiet but laced with flirtation. "Get on with it. You've quite a lot to make up for Dearest."