He phoned that night, apologetic, saying I'd imagined it all. Saying he'd had a rough day and then, hoping to have a fun evening, I'd ruined it for him. That's why he left the way he did. That's why he said cruel words he hadn't meant.
I said little, letting him attempt to crawl out of the hole we both knew in our hearts he'd dug for himself. He repeated phrases he'd used to placate me in arguments past. "No-one else would put up with the crap I do", he said. "No-one else could love you as much as I do". No-one else...no-one else.
"Why don't I come home and we can have a few drinks and I'll make things up to you the right way?", he said softly, passionately.
Against my will, the anger and hurt was slipping away. My skin ached for him and my heart was melting one more time. But before I could speak I heard a woman's voice come faintly over the phone.
"Are you coming back, sweetheart? They're playing our song".
Then muffled sounds as though a hand had covered the receiver.
I hung up the phone and walked away for good.
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