He told me how much he was suffering, how he couldn’t sleep, how the guilt was eating him alive.

And I understood, watching him, that he was doing it again, right there on the pavement: making himself the center of the emergency.

Even his apology was, at bottom, about him — about his pain, his need, his relief.

I held up my hand and he stopped.

“Listen to me, because I’m only going to say it once,” I said.

“I believe you’re sorry.