When Anna speaks, Elsa wants to be angry. She's got her purse and her meds. She doesn't need this girl, or her pity.

She can't stop some of the bitterness leaking into her voice: "Why don't you run back to my husband and my bed?"

Anna winces visibly. "It's not the place for me," she says. "Where will you stay?"

Elsa doesn't answer, and Anna takes a breath.

"Stay with me. I'll take the couch. We don't even have to interact, promise."

A pause.

"... Please let me make it up to you..."