The hand he offered disappears into his pocket and he stays silent. Making her angry isn't what he sought out to do, but if depression is the alternative, it could arguably be the better option.

In any case, he's always been lousy at apologies, as infrequent as he gives them, and always after he's done something that can't be fixed with one. So it makes sense that she'd take it as mockery. Nothing unexpected. It feels like something he dreamt up; a prophecy he imagined and made true.

Without another word, he walks past her, steps just slow enough to hear her if she calls for help. Something tells him she wouldn't. As strong as she is, she never needed him.