Her thoughts are far away, the rain barely registering except as a quiet drumming in the background, she’s thinking too much about him. How did they...come this far… how did she find someone like him – how could she deserve someone like him? She lifts the mug to her lips as she thinks back on the moments leading up to this one. As if on cue, he enters the room quietly, checking the fire started in the hearth before he went for a shower. She doesn’t turn from the window, the noise of another log. He reached for his keychain out of habit, and had sorted through half a dozen keys before he mentally kicked himself. "Ass. It's not your house anymore, remember? You just pay the fucking mortgage." He shook his head at his own stupidity before his gaze rested on the huge flowerpot that contained the ficus tree he and Gladys had purchased five years earlier, for their new house. With a lopsided grin, he took the fake rock out of the dirt, opened it for the key, and let himself in. "Gladys?. More

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