And on a rainy night, one of those ordinary nights where the extraordinary happens, the door bell rings. You’re standing in front of me, your clothes are soaked through and stick to your body. It has been days; months; years; but here you are, standing in front of me. “You were right,” you say, with short, sharp breaths. “I made a mistake. I couldn’t do it. You were right. I’m sorry.” And my thoughts race. I want to tell you the truth; that you are as beautiful as the day that I lost you. But I can’t. “You were too late.” The door closes. I fall. I am lost.