Some nights, when the pain flared or the memories of all she had loved and lost began to suffocate rather than soothe, she wondered what would happen if she left the doors unlatched. Left fate to take its course. If death awaited her, so be it. It awaited her soon enough either way. And if the visitor who darkened her doorstep each night at 10 o’clock sharp was indeed who he professed to be, then wouldn’t the reunion have been worth the risk? She thought of that voice, the way it pleaded each night for her to let it in.
