On one hand, Molly knows she can't, or shouldn't, blame him for wanting to get out for a little while. If she could get some space from this for even a few minutes, she'd probably take it, too, and it's not like she'd expected him just to immediately be alright with the situation they're now in. She doesn't have that option, though, and when he's said next to nothing to her, only that he doesn't want this to be happening either, it's hard not to take the idea of his leaving now a little insulting, and more than a little unsettling. It's written clearly in the stunned expression on her face, too, as she watches him cross the room, at a loss for how she's supposed to respond to something like that. She's not just going to say that it's fine when it doesn't feel fine at all, but neither does she have any desire to go picking a fight and making this worse when what she wants is not to have to deal with this on her own again.

"Do whatever you want," she finally says with a heavy sigh, voice still low, defeated and just the slightest bit bitter. When she'd rather either to ask him to stay or ask him if he's planning to come back, and knows it wouldn't be fair to do so, it's the best she's got. Besides, either one of those, she isn't sure she would want to hear the answer to. Even if it's only delaying the inevitable — and, God, she doesn't know what she'll do if that winds up being the case — she couldn't handle it just yet if he weren't, on top of everything fucking else. At least this way, she can let herself think that there's a chance he will.