A Window to Chapter XX

Despite the tension, he felt oddly relaxed as they drove through the darkness on the way home. The heat was turned up, the temperature was warm as the rain fell on the windshield. The conversation had taken its inevitable turn when the distractions were no longer available. The show had been pleasant enough, though there was no question that it was definitely NOT Broadway bound. He had enjoyed the opportunity to get dressed up, and simply enjoy her company for a night out, even though she had been less than affectionate. He let his eyes wander over and settled on her empty ring finger. The question had been pointed; the response less than satisfactory. The rest of the ride home had been words. Soft ones. Loud ones. Words hurled with accusation, and anger, and words tinged with sorrow, and regret. It all seemed like meaningless details, as the statement intended by the bare finger seared into his brain like a brand on his soul, as he dangled from the most lasting effect love can inflict, the most exquisite pain that love can create: a thread of hope.