“What? What do you mean you had nothing to live for?” “My career was a success, yes, but I came home to an empty house. Whenever I would paint, I would only think of you, how I hurt you, how I destroyed us. I knew I would never move on with someone else. There was no sense in trying, because you were—are—the only man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. It was work, home, paint, sleep. Painting was the only thing that made me feel human. Then, you showed up on my doorstep in the rain, and…”
