Daisy's thumb lightly rubs up and down the side of her glass. It would be easy to be the supportive friend, here — no you didn't, John; you didn't mean to, John; it'll be okay, John — but that isn't what he needs, is it? And that's not who Daisy is, anyway. She's not a sycophant, never has been. John doesn't want to be coddled, or he wouldn't have let her in.

"Yeah," she says softly. "You did."

She says it without judgement, without reproach. It's the truth, and neither of them can pretend to hide from it, even though she suspects that's what he's been doing, holing himself up in here since it all happened.