And I mean it. I pull her close and kiss her. We could go on and on with this blame game, Leo, couldn’t we? It’s her fault because she told you Diana wanted to break up with you, it’s my fault because I wasn’t there for you, it’s Augie’s, it’s Hank’s, it’s Rex’s, it’s Beth’s, hell, it’s the president of the United States’s fault for approving that black site.
But you know what, Leo? I don’t care anymore. I’m not really talking to you. You’re dead. I love you and I will always miss you, but you’ve been dead for fifteen years. That’s a long enough time to mourn, don’t you think? So I’m going to let you go now and grab on to something more substantial. I know the truth now. And maybe, as I gaze upon this strong, beautiful woman in my arms, the truth has finally set me free.