If doubt had a face...

...it would be easier to dismiss.

Rey struggled last night.

He had so much churning inside his mind. He walked into the kitchen and poured himself a stiff drink. He glanced at me, watching, sitting on the sofa with my book. He flashed a smile, an unsure smile, it filled his face. Then vanished, as he turned on the light above his easel.

He stood examining with drink in hand and a stern upper lip. He sipped, staring at the undone canvas. He picked up a brush and fought hard to apply a thin coat of paint. He took another sip.
He grunted and sighed. He threw down his brush and pulled away to look. He didn't look me, he simply turned off the light, and went to the kitchen for another drink.

The ghost of doubt had invaded.