You're barely home. You're not around at night, and during the day you're off working, like if you stop everything might catch up to you. When you do come home you can barely look at me.

[ Even without his mind, he has powers and intensity enough to take people apart. Peter does at least glance at him; a small victory. ]

You miss him - me - but you feel guilty for wanting him back. But what worries me, Peter, isn't any of that--it's that you have nobody to talk to. You don't even talk to me.