"Williams is jovial and chatty, until the conversation turns to Heath. You can see it's still difficult for her to talk about him, and she hasn't done so publicly until now. The first time Ledger's name comes up, she bursts into tears. "It's so sad," Williams says. When she's asked about how she's been doing in the past year, she's silent for a very long time. "I guess it's always changing," she says. There's another pause. "What else can I say?" Her voice is breathy and fragile, and she takes a few gulps of air. "I just wake up each day in a slightly different place—grief is like a moving river, so that's what I mean by 'it's always changing'." She stops again. "It's a strange thing to say"—her words unravel slowly, her eyes tear up—"because I'm at heart an optimistic person, but I would say in some ways it just gets worse. It's just that the more time that passes, the more you miss someone. If the paparazzi won't leave her alone, then Williams might just have to leave them behind. She says she'll quit acting, if that's what it takes to get her life back. "If it gets to the point where I can't situate my life in a way that they stay away more, then I'll drop a match on the thing," she says. "I'll be sad. I like to act. It's saved my life over and over again. It's given me a sense of self-esteem, self-worth. I have this thing that I'm in love with—acting—and now it has this baggage." For now, Williams is taking a year off to focus on the job that really matters to her: being Matilda's mom. She's endearingly protective of her daughter. She tells a story about finding a tick on Matilda and getting so worried she almost called 911. "I don't want to work while she's in school," Williams says. "I want her to have a routine. I want the plainest, simplest, most ordinary, habituated routine possible. I just want to know what's coming next." And what's that? We didn't ask. Don't you think it's time we gave Michelle Williams a little privacy?"