She knows, at least with her mind, that there's a way to survive this. That Viennois Inc. is legally and (since Franco had been good friends with many of his associates) emotionally obliged to help the widow of its founder and her unborn son, that one way or another there'll at least be enough money to get by. She's not going to go full circle and end up in the place of her childhood; her baby will have a better youth-- in an economic sense-- than his mother. Other women have been single mothers and still successful, still had successful children-- that latter point is proven by the man holding her hand now. These are things she knows in her head.

But her heart-- her heart seems to have parted this world with her husband, and the ghost of it doesn't know not to fear when so captured by grief. The ache it causes keeps the tears flowing despite the returned nod she offers, despite her trembling words.

"\I-- I know./"

And then, as she tries to pull herself back together, there's quite suddenly frustration in the way she tries to dash the tears off her cheeks with her free hand. The part of her that isn't grieving is chiding herself for coming in and intruding upon his life in the way she once promised herself she'd try not to do.

"\....I'm sorry. I shouldn't've... You've so much else going on, I--/ mm."

It's hard to breathe. Hard to think. Of course it's going to be hard to find the words to apologize. She doesn't know why she bothers trying.