Gillian Foster sees the shame.
She sees the way he obsessively watches the video of her.
The way he vainly wishes she was still with him.
She knows what it's like to lose a mother. Hers died when she was thirteen years old.
The car accident is still as vivid in her mind as it was the day it happened.
Headlights flash across her vision as the sound of tires screeching across wet pavement fills her ears.
She tastes the metallic tang of blood from where she's bitten her lip to fight against the tears.
She wipes them quickly away, hoping that he hasn't seen.
Her anguish goes unnoticed by him, his eyes are glued to the screen in front of him.
Gillian steps forward into the library, sitting next to him and laying her head on his shoulder.
They sit there in the comfort of each other, but they know that it can't last. They're line prevents it.
But lines can be blurred.