"To trying," she says hollowly, and she takes a sip, then looks down into her glass. "I shouldn't have taken you away from Mary and the baby. I'm sorry." She looks over at him, and she's been through hell in the last few days, and now is just... shutting down. She's shutting down; she had a moment of clarity where she knew she needed help, but she's back-slid (helped along with the alcohol) to where she was five months ago, before she was even here.

She was alone. "I hadn't realised you were with him when they took him to the hospital, when I called you. You must have had a hell of a day." Her voice sounds not quite right - it's pitched just a titch too high, and sounds hollow to someone who knew her. She's trying to make this not be about her, because the last thing she needs to hear is another person telling her to keep fighting and trying when it's been her life for nearly a year.