Baelish had basically not returned home for a week. His shame was paramount, and it seemed like the jagged tear that had formed between Zuri and himself was something that could not be mended. He had no one to blame but himself, it was his fault all this was happening; it had been his fault that night and it had been his every day since.
What was worse was that he knew Zuri would be fine without him; she could move on with her life easily; her beauty had not faded since their union, if anything it had blossomed with motherhood. Finding a new mate, a better mate, would be easy for her.
It was his children that would suffer, and for that he could not forgive himself. Better that he stay away so they could not see what a disappointment and a failure their father was; absence was the best choice, as much as Zuri’s gaze stabbed him with disappointment. He could not face them anymore, and so, had moved in with Willam.
The boy had changed a lot physically since he had joined the Vale; his once ragged and sea-salt crusted hair was now long and soft, he kept it in a high knot. His body had also gone a metamorphosis from gangly first-shift to young man, all strong and sinewy muscles that were honed from physical labor. In contrast, Baelish still found it difficult to keep weight on, and he has basically withered away to a wisp of his former self.
The fish-monger's son allowed his sponsor to stay, though he did not agree with his reasons why. It was easier for Willam to challenge Baelish’s decisions now that the D’Angelo was so weak of body and mind, but he also remained silent a lot of the time when he saw how much Baelish suffered.
Today, the two of them were taking it easy; both sat on the newly mended roof of Willam’s home, smoking; Baelish a cigarette and Willam a pipe. They sat in silence, enjoying the warmth of the sun on their backsides.