She told me she loved me before she left, just like she did every other morning. I felt a familiar smile tug at the corners of my lips as I told her I loved her to from where I stood in the kitchen. The coffee was still hot and I wanted to grab a cup before I myself had to leave. But I wish I wouldn’t have worried about it. I wish I would’ve turned back to look at her standing there in the doorway where the soft morning light kissed her skin and lit up the red in her hair. Because if I knew what was to happen—if I knew what I know now—then I would’ve. I would’ve reminded her that she’s the purpose behind my every breath. I would’ve told her she doesn’t need that makeup she spends so much time perfecting every morning because she’s even more beautiful without it. I would’ve told her that our wedding night was the best night of my life and that yes, I am ready to start a family and I’m sorry for ever making her think otherwise. I would’ve told her to let me hold her a while longer, if only to capture the way she feels in a bottle that I can call upon when I miss her the most. Most importantly though, I would’ve told her to stay home that day. But I didn’t say any of that. Then I heard the front door close, and she was gone.