She stood up and searched my empty gaze for a reason to forgive me. Finding none, she turned and headed back through the door with her guard-escort. I stayed in the chair and felt all the pieces of the past month swim toward my gut and coalesce into one massive tumor of guilt. And as I left the room and walked through the dingy hallway and passed the guard-turned-comedian who decided he'd make another joke at my expense, the tumor found a vein in my self-respect and began to metastasize.