"Yeah." It's difficult to dredge up anything close to conviction. He just sounds exhausted.

She's right. It makes sense. Yet —

"I always thought death was the end. It's supposed to be, but... recently, I got a letter from my wife. She died three years ago." He knows how it sounds. "I was looking for her before — well. Before I ended up here."

He pauses and looks out over the graveyard for a moment before turning back to the woman. "I'm not telling you this because I want sympathy or a candle or something. My point is, if I find her and I have to watch her die again, it doesn't matter how many times. It would never just... not matter."

And yeah, maybe he would lose his mind over it. Maybe he already has. He doesn't even know anymore.