"Ezra," Rosie breathed, though whether she meant it as a warning or a plea wasn't immediately clear. The comment was too sharp for a wound that remained so raw and jagged. Rosalie had once held such hope for this year's Valentine's day — her first as a married woman, likely heavily pregnant with their firstborn child as a result of their burning passion. The vision had been so clear last year as they snuck away from the party to enjoy what little time they could with one another. Rosie had even gone as far as to share her hopes with him between her breathy sighs.

What a difference a year made.

She stood then on legs that wobbled no less than they did five minutes ago and held every intention of muttering her goodbyes. This was too hard, too emotionally taxing to continue suffering through unnecessarily. The brisk farewell rose like acid in her throat. Unlike last year, when leaving felt like the only thing she could do, her body felt frozen in place. Almost as if things might be fixed if only they could navigate this conversation. Rosie had to leave, she knew it, but as she looked at him with nothing but hurt in her gaze, she couldn't bring herself to say the words.

"Please, don't." She softly pleaded instead.

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