She's sure he would be happy if it was someone else. In this precise moment, where he is in pain, she is certain that he would not sing a different tune if she was swanning off to a happily ever after with Verso.

She's also sure she despises being defensive, or angry, but on the floor of their barren apartment, without much to dampen the sound, it's at least easy to keep her voice low.

"Well, exactly that. I thought you would be upset about the things I kept from you," she says. "So yes, I knew he was Renoir's son. I also knew he wasn't going to tell you without being made to."