After All

by Miles Rost

He walked down the street, small rolling suitcase following behind him like a stray puppy dog looking for an owner. He was despondent, and tired, but he had to get to his destination. So he kept on walking.

He was close to his destination, when he looked over at a bus stop. Normally, a bus stop wouldn’t inspire any sort of pause for him, but the plexiglass and metal frame, with a bench and transit computer inside, immediately shot a memory into his head, sending him backwards a moment.

His mind carried to the forefront a memory of a woman that he gave his heart to. The image of him on a cold winter’s evening, holding her from behind, overlayed his vision of the now-empty bus stop. His vision filled with the warm feelings on his face as he nestled it next to hers. He played the role that night, of the knight in armor bright, faithful and true.

He continued to look at the bus stop, and he saw the moment where things went south. The vision of himself and his beautiful young woman, having a battle of major proportions there at that bus stop. He didn’t even remember what it was about, it was so long ago. All he saw was the fight that they had, and how the tears that flowed from her eyes broke his heart even now. He knew he made a mistake, but there was nothing he could do about it.

In a moment’s blink, the bus stop returned to it’s empty state, with a bus pulling away from it and roaring down the street. In his heart, he felt the hole in his heart. It was always there, ever since that day, but there was nothing he could do to fill it. All he could do is let time heal his wounds.

He started walking again, slowly, as he approached his destination. He went to the counter, and the Korean woman asked him where he wanted to go.

“Busan,” he said. After a moment, and a swipe of his card, he received his tickets and went downstairs to the departing buses. He took up a seat on a bench near where his bus was, and he just looked around.

Twenty minutes passed by before his bus to Busan pulled in and started loading passengers. As he walked up towards the door, he took a look back at the terminal and saw a blonde-haired figure standing far back, looking at him from a distance. He tried to see if it was her, but he couldn’t see her face. After a few second and a blinking of his eyes, she was gone.

He put his suitcase under the bus and got on board. As the bus pulled away, he looked at the terminal and the city surrounding it. He sighed, knowing that his time was finished and he was moving on. He wished that he didn’t have to go. He wanted to be the one to hold her in his arms. Yet, he knew it could never happen.

He would never know if he could love anyone else again, and as he traveled in silence towards the eastern coast and a ferry that would transport him to his new home, tears started to flow down his face.

I Will Wait For You

by Miles Rost

It was just another night like any other. My 33 year old self went home after a hard day of work, picking up a half a pizza to gnaw on as my dinner and breakfast for the next day. I didn’t even get through one of the 4 slices before I just passed out. At that time, the sun was just going down on the horizon.


For some reason, I kept hearing this voice while I slept.

“…hey…wake up…”

I really did think I was dreaming. Until I felt something like icy hot running up my foot from ankle to middle toe. That was when I sat up straight and looked around. My eyes adjusted to the dark a little bit, and I didn’t see anything. I looked down at my clock, that cried at me 2AM. I thought that it was annoying that I was woken up at 2AM for no reason. After putting down the clock, I looked back in front of me.

“Hi! You’re awake!”

I saw this ghostly apparition in front of my face. The first thing that went through my mind, in a split second, was that I was dreaming again. After blinking once, I realize that, in fact, I wasn’t.


The apparition backed up a little bit and twisted it’s face into a bit of an annoyed look.

“Oh come on, it’s not like I was intentionally trying to scare you!”

I looked at this ghostly figure and realized that it’s voice was that of a young woman’s. I sat for almost a minute looking at it, and just tried to make sure that I wasn’t in fact dreaming. Firmly satisfied in the fact that I wasn’t dreaming, and that I was being visited by something of a spirit, I looked at it and had a queried look on my face.

“Are you here to kill me?”

The spirit giggled a slight bit, then sighed.

“No, I am not going to kill you. The reason I’m here is of a totally different matter.”

“What might that be?” I asked her, as I determined that the spirit was definitely female.

“Quite simply, you’ve been asking God for a wife for a long time. I’m here to tell you that God is listening to you.”

I pikued at this. Now, the question in my head was how the hell did she know THAT?. So I decided to probe a bit more.

“Okay, you say that you’re from God. Were you sent by Christ to visit?”

“You mean Jesus the Christ? Died on the cross? Yes, I was sent by Christ. However, I will say that I’m not an angel or anything like that.”

“Then…what are you?”

“I am actually the spirit of your future wife!”

I heard this, and my mind just went blank. I couldn’t think of anything to say. So I did the only thing natural. I laughed, and I laughed in a way that made it seem like I was going insane. After about a minute, and a bit of a sulking from my future wife ghost, I finally was able to get my laughter down.

“Okay, so let me get this straight: You are my future wife, but you’re in spirit form. You were sent by Christ to visit me and tell me that God is listening to me? About what?”

She just smiled at me in the way a female ghost, who really didn’t have much of a form besides that of a general feminine outline, could only do so.

“Your love life, lack therein, and your future with me!”

My eyes just glazed over again, before I cleared them up.

“I am going to humor this. So, you are my wife in the future. Does the person you’re inhabiting know this?”

“Innately, yes. But I don’t know who you are yet. I know you’re out there somewhere, on the western skyline. However, I don’t know your identity and won’t know.”

I looked at her and sighed.

“This just keeps getting stranger and stranger,” I told myself, before looking at her again.

“Alright, future wife spirit, I guess I have to ask this again so I can get a bit of understanding. Why are you here, in my room?”

She looked at me with what seemed to be a little bit of a baffled look, then smiled.

“I was sent to you by Christ to let you know that I will find you eventually, that you should be patient, and that you should wait on Christ’s timing. It will happen, you just need to be open to waiting.”

“Even if the world is going to hell in a handbasket?”

“Yep! I’ll find you somehow! But you won’t know who I am until such time as Christ gives you the signal.”

I just sat there for a few moments and shook my head.

“Future wife spirit, do you know just how kooky and strange this sounds? I mean, I know a thing or two about wasting away. And now, you’re telling me that even though I’ve been waiting so long, I have to wait a little longer?”

She drifted over to my side and patted my shoulder, which I barely felt.

“I have faith that you will wait for me. I know you will.”

I looked back at at this formless female spirit and blinked.

“Do I get a hint of what you look like so I know what to find?”

“Nope! That’s gonna be a surprise!” she chimed in, smiling with eyes like that of an anime character.

I sighed and just chuckled to myself.

“I’ve been stuck out in the frozen darkness, waiting for so long. I guess, what’s a few more years?”

She moved to the foot of my bed, and smiled at me. I realized that it was actually comforting to have her here, and that indeed that it could be an actual message.

“Gotta run. I’m gonna be waking up soon. But, remember, I’m out there. I will wait for you.”

I was about to say something, but I heard only her voice as she disappeared saying over and over, “I will wait for you.”

I sat up for a while and just realized that the impossible became possible. And while it was only yesterday, I feel as though I will be with her soon. Call it a gut feeling.

I Still Believe

by Miles Rost

The hut in the middle of the flat expanse of “wilderness” was a tough place for a missionary to live. For Rene, however, it was the place that he called home. It was the place where he was able to meditate and to craft his work for sale. It was the place where he could study, and when he wasn’t working, he could leave and go teach the Word among those who were lost.

It was a hard road for him. Originally from France, he grew up in the tough lands of Algeria and in the palatial estates of Nice. Sand in his skin, and grit in his mind, it took the saving grace of Christ and a couple of good friends to get him where he was able to be of some good. And his place as a missionary took him to the lands of Patagonia. He lived in his hut for many years, and did his work as a maker of threads and cloth. If one asked him how many people he saved, he would say “I have saved none, and gave the Word to everyone I met in Patagonia. That’s all.”

However, it was time to go back to his old home. He had to go back to Algeria, then to France. He had to bury his parents, who had passed on one after each other. With no other siblings, he was the last of his family’s line. And at age 35, if he was going to continue with the family line, he would need to get married.

He landed in Paris, and took a train from Paris to Nice, where his parents lived. Many of the people in the neighborhood where his parents lived, they remembered young Rene. A spitfire of a boy, they would call him. Today, they looked at him as a stranger, and upon recognizing him, he would be looked on with a slight bit of disgust at what he had done in the many years away from there. He did not mesh well there, and people would keep asking him why he was there.

After a few days of getting re-acclaimated, the time came to bury his mom and dad. Everyone in the church, staid and stoic people who weren’t necessarily believers, but were there out of respect, waited for Rene to give the eulogy. And as he stood and walked up to the pulpit, he seemed tired. He unrolled his paper, and cleared his throat to speak.

“As most of you probably know, I’ve been living in a hut for many years. I have lived among the people of Patagonia, away from my mother and my father. I had a spark of life to light my way, put there by both of my parents, of whose light has gone from this Earth. They raised me to be a loving son, and while some here may not think so much because of what has happened in the last few years, I can state that my parents did not leave this Earth regretting what their son has done.”

He took in a breath, and proceeded to let the hounds loose.

I still believe. I still believe! Through this pain, and through these tears! Through the lies I hear around here, and through the storms that the people in this town create. Through the cries and the words of war, no matter what the people here say, I still believe!

He wipe a tear from his face, and continued to speak.

“My mother and father, they cared for The Lord. They didn’t say much, but their lives said everything! Their faith was evidenced in how they took care of their friends, and how the people of Nice paid them back with scorn! While I was away, my mother and father did what the Lord would want them to do, and in the days I have been here, I have seen with how much regard they have been given by everyone. There has been very little!”

He wound himself up in his mind, and let go with passion and fervor.

“You white-washed walls! You claim to be here to honor my parents’ memory, and yet you spit on their contribution to a better land. You mock how they raised their son, and the Lord that they worship! For people like us, and in places like this, we need all the hope that we can get! I can see why this town, this country, are doing very poorly in faith! There is no hope among you!”

He took in a breath, and made his final statement.

“My parents will be laid to rest on the hills outside of this city. Their bodies will decay and rot, and will feed the earth once more. Their souls, their true being, are with Christ my Lord right now. If any of you were actually touched by my parents and what they had done in Christ’s name, you will do as they did: Believe in the Lord with their heart, minister to those who need it, and for all that is holy and righteous, shut your mouth and stop being a bunch of gossiping busybodies! That is all.”

He took his paper, walked down the aisle, and sat back in the pew. For a good long while he sat, and waited. He waited for them to come at him screaming about being insulted.

All he received from them was indifference, which reminded him of the last thing he saw as he boarded the plane at Charles de Gaulle, bound for Buenos Aires, then to Asuncion.

He saw an old man turn his back from his son, who was crying as he was carried aboard another plane at a neighboring gate.

Gimme Gimme Gimme

by Miles Rost

for Maggie, RIP

1980. It was a bad year for Labour, but a great year for my boys. I was a member of Parliament at the time, but I took a leave of absence in order to take care of my wife, Hilda. A lovely lady, she was staying with some of her cousins in Pittsburgh, and came down with something incredibly awful. Now if I could only remember what it was.

Anyhow, May of 1979 was a big time for my boys in blue. Or, rather, in this case, it was my boys and girls in blue. See, we just got off a major win taking over Westminster. 63 extra seats netted us 339 seats in total. This was excellent! Old Ed Heath couldn’t have done that if he was standing upside down, wearing a Donald Trump toupee and singing the Doctor Who theme song!

Anyhow, I just got back over in January so I could meet the new leader of our fair United Kingdom. I met her before, when she was merely an MP based out of Finchley. To see Margaret Thatcher, who I loved to call “Mags”, as the head of all of the British Commonwealth made my heart tickle. I happened to arrive at 10 Downing on a beautiful Friday morning.

I was just about to go into the residence, when I heard the most interesting sound coming from behind the door. I heard music. And not just any music, but music I was familiar with. And, sure enough, as I was let into the Prime Minister’s place, I heard music that I likely only would have found in Studio 54 back in New York.

Poor ol Denis was sitting at the table, slowly lowering and raising his head on the table, looking like he had lost his mind. And there was the Prime Minister, Maggie “Iron Skirt” Thatcher, enjoying her latest addition to her collection of music: Abba’s Greatest Hits, Volume 2.

“Oh, this is particularly delightful! I have not experienced such music in a good long time. Tis’ a shame it’s wasted on American youth, when the British should be getting into it as well!” she said, aloud, as she danced across the telly room. I recognized the song that she was listening to, with it’s popular refrain of “Gimme Gimme Gimme, a man after midnight.” Which she also happened to sing with an interesting lilt in her voice.

I cleared my throat and chuckled as she danced. She turned around and looked at me, and grinned a large grin that I had not seen from her in quite some time.

“Actually, my fair Prime Minister, it is currently #3 on the British charts. So our youth are, in fact, getting into it.”

“Well, that will be a wonderful note to add to my list. How is your wife, Prentice?”

“She’ll be alright, just a little confusion,” I told her, lying through my teeth, “She’ll be back in Birmingham in no-time”.

Maggie turned down the volume on the song, which was ending anyways, and looked at me with those stern eyes that would later stare down Mikhail Gorbechev.

“You, sir, are lying. What is going on with your wife?”

I sighed.

“Alzheimer’s. Early onset. She’ll be staying with my cousins in Pittsburgh. It means I’ll be making trips periodically. I may have to stand down at the next election.”

She looked at me with sad eyes. I will never forget what she would tell me next.

“Your wife will be a treasure even while you’re away. You will live long lives, no matter where you are.”

That was Maggie. She was someone I could admire, and someone who would always be there to give someone comfort. Even if some of the more ardent of folk didn’t care for her.

We talked for a good 20 minutes about the important things, which allowed her husband to gratefully go upstairs, change his clothes, and go out for a while. I’m thinking he found a hotel and took a nap, though I cannot be too sure.

After our 20 minute talk, she insisted that we listen to more music while working on the rest of the new developments that would impact my constituency in Birmingham. So we continued to listen to Abba’s Greatest Hits, volume 2. Everytime “Gimme Gimme Gimme” would come on, she would dance and laugh. It delighted me so, that even when I retired for the 1983 election, I still would remember that song and the look on the old dame’s face.

I went to live in the States after 1983. And, as I sit here and watch the world pass me by in my chair looking out over the business that is Pittsburgh, PA, I remember Maggie Thatcher very vividly. An old Tory warhorse, now reunited in heaven with her companions. Here’s a pint to you, Iron Lady.

* This was a fictional account. No one actually knew IF she actually danced to ABBA, but we figure that it would be quite awesome if she did. RIP Margaret Thatcher.

Mexican Radio

by Miles Rost

Apparently, it had been three days since I last saw consciousness.

Here’s what I remember so far. I was staying at a friend of mine’s place in Sylmar, waiting for word back from a prospective client for a job in imports and exports. They dealt with Vietnam, Cambodia, and Thailand explicitly, and since I knew how to speak Vietnamese and Thai, I figured I would have an in. I sit down in front of the TV and watch an episode of The People’s Court, then a rerun of NCIS. I chugged down a glass of freshly made iced tea that my host had made before he left for work. I start feeling really good, and decide that it’s nice enough to take a nap.

When I woke up, three days later, I heard the chatter from a small transistor radio in my room. I tried listening hard, but I couldn’t understand just what the DJ was saying. I blinked for a few moments to get my bearings, and see if it was morning or night. To my surprise, in the room there were no windows. Now, understand something, this room was about as big as a closet in an average apartment. So, I get up and slowly walk to the door.

I opened up the door and I looked at the room. There was a light on, but it was one bulb. It was pretty dark, and kinda warm in there. I looked on the table and saw a microphone, a control board, and a couple of CD players. I also saw my laptop next to the microphone. It was plugged in and ready to go, though I noticed that all my chat programs on there were gone.

I went to the refrigerator, but I saw there was nothing there except water and a couple bottles of Corona. Greeeeeat, just what I didn’t need. Alcohol. I went over to the main door and tried to open it. Clearly, it was bolted shut and was made of a strong metal that reminded me of the inside of an Abrams tank.

Suddenly, the small door slot opened and a plate full of meat, beans, and rice came through the door. A note was next to it. So I grabbed it up, walked over to another table next to the broadcast table, and proceeded to read the note.


Enjoy your food. Your show starts in 30 minutes. Clock is on the wall and is atomic-based.

your employer.

Okay, that’s nice. Well, let’s take a look at what I got. Hmmm…looked like kebabs, beans, and rice. So I took a bite of kebab. It actually tasted good…for about 5 seconds, then it took a turn towards the very chewy and the not-so-palatable. Instead, I ate the beans and rice and kept the plate of meat nearby for something to snack on while I did some sort of broadcasting show.

Only after putting on the headphones and turning on the mic did a window finally open. And I was shocked by what I saw. I was on the 12th floor of a building overlooking what could only be described as the brown-haired and dirty stepchild of the City of San Diego. With looking out that window, looking down at the meat, and the phone that was now ringing via a red signal, I finally realized that I was the living epitome of a major song:

I found I was in Tijuana
Eating barbequed ignuana
I take requests on the telephone
I’m on a wavelength far from home

God, help me now. I’m on-a Mexican Radio.

Moonlight Lady

by Miles Rost

Hirsan was getting bored with the party being held in his honor. The bespectacled 24-year old grad student had just finished a major exam in his Geography 507 course, dealing with the political intrigue relating to assassinations and their relative location to national capitals. He received a text message to come and visit his father at the estates in mountains in Orange County.

He didn’t realize it was going to be a 24th birthday party.

Sure, he was the son of royalty. The heir to the new throne of Syria, once the old dictator Assad was brought down to his knees and the insurgent Iranians sent back to their native land. However, today, he thought of himself as simply a college student and a deeply humiliated individual.

Hirsan liked to live frugally, to learn how to survive on his own and work with the other people. He wasn’t religious, and preferred to be focused on love and life, rather than political intrigue and negotiations. However, this surprise party was his father’s idea.

“When King Rahsan gets an idea, you know there will be lots of money and pomp behind it,” he said, dejectedly.

He scanned the floor of the main ballroom from his perch on the second floor. The main ballroom was gigantic. With marble flooring and bright orangish colors up the sides, it was surrounded on a second floor by four large open corridors with seating along both sides of it’s wide hallways. He sat next to the edge overlooking the ballroom, looking at the main ballroom doors to the north. A string ensemble was on one side of the ballroom, while a disc jockey was on the other side. While the adults played, the string ensemble were in play. After the adults would retire, the youth would have the disc jockey for the rest of the night. The DJ was a good friend of Hirsan’s, brought down from San Francisco for the occasion. He had a list of certain songs that Hirsan would be using on most nights.

He was just about to get up and walk towards the kitchen in frustration when he saw a face appear through the main ballroom doors. His heart froze, and he stood, transfixed. He knew this person who walked through the doors, and he did not know what to do.

She wore a beautiful peach-colored satin dress. It was definitely flirty, but it wasn’t over-doing it. It stated confidence, like it knew what it wanted and that others should stay away. Her skin was light, but had a tinge of color to it. Likely unnoticable to most people, for Hirsan, it was a perfect color that showed the beauty of East Asia. Her almond eyes lit up with kindness as she was greeted, and her light-red lips gently displayed laughter.

Hirsan immediately bolted to the stairs closest to the string ensemble. He ran over to the main conductor and tapped him on the shoulder. After talking in an animated way to him for close to a minute, the conductor gave him the nod, and he continued to quickly rush over towards the DJ. He gave him the number 51, and told him to wait for his cue. The DJ just let out a hearty chuckle and slapped him on the back. Hirsan then proceeded to walk slowly in the direction of the young lady.

He came to within two feet of her, and she turned to look at him.

“Hirsan?!” she said, gasping a slight bit, “You’re the birthday boy?”

“It is, Keiko! How did you end up coming over here?”

“It was your dad. He said that you mentioned me a couple times, and he thought it would be nice for me to come celebrate your birthday.”

Hirsan smirked, while looking down and shaking his head.

Dad, there some some days when I have to wonder just what’s going on in that head of yours.

He looked back at her and smiled.

“You look absolutely gorgeous this evening. It’s a change from seeing you in normal clothes in Heitler 150.”

Keiko looked back at him, and gave him a sly nudge.

“Are you trying to say I don’t look sexy?”

Hirsan immediately tried to explain, tying up his tongue and eliciting a guffaw from an old colonel who was standing next to him.

“Don’t dig yerself a hole there, Hirsan. You may just fall in.”

Hirsan quickly facepalmed, took a breath, and sighed.

“You look great in anything you wear. I just never have seen you in as elegant or, shall we say, shiny of attire.”

Keiko blushed slightly.

Hirsan knew his next move, one that he hoped he would be able to pull off. He proceeded to gently pick up her hand, placing it in his.

“Keiko, would you care for a dance to one of my favorite songs?”

Keiko responded with boldness.

“Of course I would, Hirsan. You might be surprised by what you ask.”

Hirsan proceeded to take her hand and move her around a couple directions. He gave the signal to the composer to stop, and the “5-1” with his open hand to the DJ. Both did as they were supposed to do while Hirsan brought Keiko to the middle of the ballroom. Other people started to move out of the way, as the couple finally arrived. At the precise moment they arrived, his song started up.

For the first 30 seconds or so, he slowly moved with her around in the middle of the crowd, which had opened up into a circle. For the near 3 and a half minutes, Hirsan moved across the floor with Keiko. He utilized partner dance skills that he had been taught long ago as a child, and applied old-style charm in a bid to make those four minutes the greatest of Keiko’s life.

He twirled her around in the choruses, and did tango/mamba mixes during other parts. She just grinned and laughed as they went through the song. He found himself at the end of the song looking into her eyes and saying words that he never thought he would have uttered in his life.

Sexy sexy lady, you just drive me crazy.

Keiko looked into his eyes with what could only be termed as a “sultry stare”.

“Is this just from our dance, or has this thought been going on for a while?”

“Ever since we first met in Wilshire 100 lecture hall for Professor Chaudhury’s World Geography class.”

Keiko blushed, showing that she too had the same answer.

“Well, now that we know we can dance to the music, let it play!” he said, giving her a flourish and signalling the string ensemble to start playing again.

It was definitely going to be a great 24th birthday for Hirsan.

Against All Odds

by Miles Rost


Brian Charles looked up at the second-floor bedroom window of his ex-girlfriend’s house.

“Shandie! C’mon! We need to talk!”

No answer came.

“Shandie, if we talk this out, you won’t have to see me again. I just need to get this out.”

After a few moments, “Shandie” came to the window. A beautiful redhead with long hair, she wore the mean look of an Irish lass.

“You got me here, Brian! Spill!”

Brian looked up at her with eyes that were near overflowing to tears. This was a man with a mission whose heart seemed to be ready to pop things open.

“Do you want to know why I did not make it to the hospital to pick you up?”

“Does it involve some lame excuse? If so, I don’t want to know!”

“This is the problem, Shandie! You won’t listen to what happened! If you were willing to take a second and actually hear what happened and look at the report in my hand, you’ll know that there was a very good reason why I was not there.”

“I’ve seen you do this before, Brian! You did it to Elena before you met me! You did it to Raisa! And now you’re doing it to me! I don’t want to hear it!”

How can you just walk away from me? How can you do this without even letting me tell you why I wasn’t able to make it there?”

“You’re going to say something fantastical, Brian, and try to get me to forgive you. Well, it’s not happening! I don’t want to hear your excuses!”

You coming back to me is against the odds! I see that! I don’t care if we’re together anymore! I just do not want to this to end with miscommunication!”


Brian tore at his hair, frustrated and about ready to burst. Shandie looked back at him, a slight smirk on her face.

“Couldn’t handle the truth? That is why I won’t believe you!”

She turned around and

Brian growled and threw the paper-wrapped tennis ball into her room. He grabbed his hair and screamed at her.


Shandie stopped smirking. As his loud sobs resonated through the neighborhood, she slowly walked back and picked up the paper. She looked at it, a police report. She noticed the time and the date, the location, and what had happened. It was as though everything she had thought about started to crack right at that moment.

She looked down at him, and those cracks in her mind got larger, and more spidery.

“Brian,” she said, a bit softer, “I…I think I need to hear what you have to say after all.”

Brian choked out the story in between tears, about how he was running late due to a long line at the local Target store. He tried to use a shortcut, but it was blocked by a creek that was flooding due to an ice jam. He drove down a hill and lost control of his vehicle as it slid downhill. He cried as he recounted the old man who just entered the roadway just at the moment he reached the bottom of the hill, and how he went through his windshield, and how Brian went unconscious after the car came to a rest in a yard.

“I…” she mumbled, “I remembered what you did before, with all these fantasy stories with your past girlfriends. I thought that it was just the same thing.”

Brian sniffled, and looked at her with a sorrowful but hateful glare.

“You thought wrong,” he said, his voice calming down, “You’ve always jumped to conclusions about things. Even after we started dating. And now, after today, I don’t want think about you ever again. Not after what you have done.”

Shandie did not know what she could do. She wanted to run down there and comfort him, but she also knew that she couldn’t. He was right, she didn’t listen. And it cost her a relationship.

“Brian, I am….I am sorry.”

Brian just turned around and started to walk out of the yard. He cleared his conscience, she got an explanation, and he found out just how it was to truly end a relationship with honesty. He looked back up at her one last time, and called back.

Take a look at me now. There’s just an empty space there, now.”