When she turned, her face was ruddy from crying.
“Achilles does not regard me.” Her voice trembled a little. “Even though I bear his child and am his wife. Do you—know why this is so?”
It was a child’s question, like why the rain falls or why the sea’s motion never ceases. I felt older than her, though I was not.
“I do not know,” I said softly.
Her face twisted.“That’s a lie. You’re the reason. You will sail with him, and I will be left here.”
I knew something of what it was to be alone. Of how another’s good fortune pricked like a goad. But there was nothing I could do.