Meredith doesn't move, gaze dropping, unfocused on some spot on the sheets. It's a little easier to feel prepared for that when it was already on her mind, but that doesn't mean she wants to think about it. It's just a new way of putting the things she already knows: that no matter what he says, she's never quite going to be enough, not to set things right. She'll never be what his wife (former, dead, whatever, it doesn't really help like she thought it would) was. "Then you work with what you have," she says before the silence drags on too long. "You have to be someone. You're not just no one now."