[ All of Arthur's logical doubts make a reasonable amount of sense from his point of view, which is exactly why Sally struggles to find the beginning of her explanation.

When he says it's impossible she laughs and it's a very sad, very unpretty sound.]

It'd be easy to believe I'm bonkers, wouldn't it? If I hadn't already told you once. But the way you're acting-- you really don't remember a thing, do you? Here I thought you left me because I told you I had a baby

[ All her careful charming composure goes up in flame and it's just raw terrible honesty that comes crashing out. Talking is slightly better than crying though

She wants to tell him to fucking try. To think back to that afternoon in the park-- or was it at her flat? How can she demand he know everything when she doesn't? But it's not everything that she wants him to remember!

He's trying to be nice. Maybe barking up the wrong tree about it, but at least he's trying. A failed effort to be kind is worth more than a success at cruelty. ]

It sounds impossible. It's really not, you just have to be a spectacular idiot. And I promise if you need to know the chemical breakdown I can walk you through how I managed but I can't right now-- s-so please-- can you just--

[ she had been gaining on him, stalking through that expanse she's taken for shelter, and maybe her wild reckless sadness could feel hostile--

Until her forehead thumps against Arthur's chest and suddenly she's this small tremulant thing with a despair too big for her bones. When she speaks her words come out muffled against Arthur's shirt]

--believe me and tell me you're sorry I can't find her and give me a fucking hug, please.