The drive to the cabin seemed to take longer this time. Perhaps it was the anticipation. Perhaps it was the anger. Perhaps is was the fact that my foo... was killing me and the Porsche didn’t have enough leg room to get comfortable in with that damned cast. He parked the Porsche in its usual spot and shut off the engine. I stared at the dashboard and he stared grimly through the windshield. Neither of us moved for an endless minute. The tension was thick as the proverbial pea soup until it. She fell to her knees and raised her face as if to show me where I’d hit her, proud, tenacious. She was always tenacious, ready to take the next blow if I wanted to give it and I saw then that this wouldn’t change anything. Slapping her wouldn’t change anything, hurting her wouldn’t change a damned thing, wouldn’t change her love for him or the stubbornness in her heart, wouldn’t bring Cormac back or change the course of our lives or undo my pain and humiliation or make me into anything. More

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