She piped cute, timid words, "How was your day, dear?" The door to the chilling alpine adventure was shut, a world of cold mountains closed as the warmth of inside greeted her turned back, a gentle hand in her glove simply beaming at the feel of closing it.
A man, about forty in age, smiled the smile of a man so irrevocably in love that the very ages could not stop him. His protective arms wrapped warmly around her shivering body, a soothingly gruff voice appearing from her back, "It was as wonderful as you, darling."
"So it was horrible?"
He laughed a hearty laugh, melting her from the inside. She turned to smile and kiss him, his lips like a wispy cloud and chest as inviting as her fleeting dreams. "Come, the lovely dinner you left cooking is ready," said the man.
Her smile glistened, the scent of stew laden heavy in the air, as though the very oxygen would liquefy. They stepped through the wooden cabin, his hand in hers, to the source of the delight. She served him and then herself. The husband and wife sat at the old table, the gift of their marriage, and she began consumption of the stew so oddly bitter.
Yet the man merely sat over the bowl, swaying silently. "What's the matter?" said the woman, "Is the stew bad?" She could taste the wrongness, and knew the answer, but also knew such bitterness could not be smelled.
He gave an encouraging smile, "My dear Mary, it smells delightful, I assure you, but I'm simply not hungry right now. I'm sorry..."
Silence filled the room like a trodden downpour. A wave of loneliness and remorse flooded over Mary as a tsunami wave, broken in her tears on the wood, greeting an otherwise empty room. For, you see, there is something you must know about this man:
He's not there anymore.
Good luck with your revision Abo!!
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