Whether or not he's intended to drop that guilt on her chest, Claire doesn't know. All that she feels is that suddenly, the weight of it is crushing. But as hot as her eyes burn right now, she refuses to let the tears fall, refuses to change her mind, refuses to beg forgiveness— because in something like this, there's just no point. She shouldn't have to think herself in the wrong for feeling the way she does, as he shouldn't be reprimanded for his notion of love, one which presumably has less friction, one where love is a notion that blankets over all. Claire knows that she doesn't want that. She knows, from finding out her father has lied, repeatedly, that love can't always be enough. A love that has to compromise every step of the way isn't the love that she's dreamed of.

How much does he really know about her?

How much does he really love her, and not the notion of what she might provide in his life? That's the question that Claire knows she doesn't want answered anymore, to make this harder than it has to be.

"I guess not," she replies, even though she isn't sure if it's true. This feels a whole lot like the love she's known in her life. Trials. Tribulations. Hurt. Who hasn't brought that into her life?

This is exactly how love's supposed to work, she suspects.