Everything was going according to my plan. I reserved a table at the cheesecake factory—I had to make this reservation a couple of months ago. I asked the waitress to bring out Becca's favorite wine, appetizer, and soup before we even arrived. She loves the avocado eggrolls like no other; I literally have to order my own appetizer because I know she won't share. As much as this night seems to be going smoothly, something is off…

She sits across me. Staring out the window, I can almost smell her disdain for being here; it smelled like an orange has started to decompose, sweet yet extremely sour. I thought the best way to spend valentines day is to follow our tradition of coming here, but clearly that was wrong. 

These last ten months have been hard on us. I am a detective for the Havre de Grace police department—in other words, I work impossibly long hours. To make matters worse, I got activated from my reserve status to deploy to Spain; so basically a vacation. Although it was a short deployment, I'm afraid it was the needle in the haystack that broke my marriage. 

Basically, ten months ago, Rebecca told me she wanted a family. That she wanted to settle down… and I told her I was deploying.

Not the best move, but I had to do what I had to do. I can't deny orders.

Regardless, I am finally back, and I am ready to make things work between us, but that decaying orange scent stops me from moving forward with my plans. The longing look she gives the window tells me the story of how genuinely late I am. I have failed to keep the fire lit between us.

I smile at her, and try to get her attention with my foot. "Hey, are you okay?" I nudge her crossed legs with my toe. She sighs and looks into my eyes. 

"Stop it. Also, clearly I'm not, Ismael de Inigo Montoya—" She glares at me. As if saying my full name, would tell me what was going through her mind. "I don—"

"Look, I know it has been tough, Becca, but I want to show you that I am done with putting my work first. I am ready to settle down and make our family a priority." I blurt out before she has a chance to finish her thought. 

"You have absolutely horrible timing, Iz." She smirks and looks down at her empty wine glass. I reach out to try and fill it—but she stops me with a hand and does it herself. "You've been back home for almost three months, doing nothing but your little 'soldiering thing,' and expect—" She stops and glares at me, "wait, what are you expecting, Iz?" 

"I just want to make it lik—"

"Like it used to be! Are you fucking serious?" She interrupts me and raises her tone as tears threaten to fall from her mesmerizing green eyes. 

All I want to do is hold her and tell her it will be okay…

"Ismael, we have been together for almost six years. I know you better than anyone. But you won't listen—" she takes a stuttering breath "—I can't make you understand, this 'little' deployment of yours was nothing. Your actions were everything." 

"I have done everything to keep us together, Becca. I have left everyone and everything behind to start a life with you. Why won't you just fight for me!" 

Her laugh destroys my hope. 

"I have fought for you, more than anyone else, Iz. You think I forgot your fling with Faye? Or Fionna?" 

Fio is one of my closest friends. I've known her since I was a teenager. But when her boyfriend died two years ago. We traveled together to his home country, in Cuba, to deliver his ashes to his family. This trip took two weeks. "Fior—"

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"I don't care, Iz!" She shakes her head. "We aren't working, and this," she gestures with her hand between us, "isn't healthy. I am done with us. I'm tired of trying to make it happen... Also, I need to let you know that I have met someone in my support group. We haven't done anything out of respect for you, but I can no longer be with you. I do not feel like I used to."

"What are you saying?" My mind whirls at everything she said. 

"You know what I am trying to say, Iz, don't make me say it." Her eyes are glossy with tears gently falling down her cheeks. "I have been distancing myself from you for a while now. Have you not noticed my closet since you've been back? Or of our pictures in our house?"

"I thought you said your clothes were still at your mother's house, and you said you were changing the pic—" She isn't wrong. Thoughts run through all of the signs I chose to ignore. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"How could I have?" She hasn't looked away from me since she told me. I can see the hurt in her eyes; her make up is slowly smearing across her cheek from all the tears. "You haven't made me a priority in your life in years, Iz. Hell, we haven't touched each other in almost a year! You haven't even KISSED me!" 

Realization dawns on me, as everything she says is right… I haven't. 

"I'm sorry." I let the empty words escape my lips, "I can do—" A loud screeching sound from her chair stops me. 

"I just wanted to tell you, Ismael. I left the divorce paperwork on your desk. You can have everything inside the house. I took everything I wanted when I went to mothers house." She turns and walks towards the waitress and hands her two one-hundred-dollar bills. "I expect the paperwork to be with my lawyer within the week." She turns towards the exit without a second glance back, knowing the situation she left me. 

The waitress shakes her head and rushes towards me. "Iz, I told you this was happening. Why didn't you believe me?" 

"Who are you?" I ask as I feel the tears flow from my eyes. I stare into her brown eyes. "Nothing is making sense right now." I try to stand up and go to Rebecca.

The room turns on its side as I stand up. 

Or is it me? Wait…

Darkness is all I see.

----------------------------------------

"Brightness is all I am," I mutter to myself as I open my eyes, to see the blank dotted ceiling tiles in front of me. 

"Hey there, sunshine, what did you say?"

I know that voice, I turn my head to see a beautiful brunette with round facial features staring into my eyes. My heart skips a beat as the sunlight from the window shines into her eyes and reveals the golden color beneath the brown.

"H—hey, Fiorella... Nothing, don't worry about it … Where am I?" I look around the unfamiliar room noting all the medical equipment in the general space. "A hospital?"

"Yeah, Iz. You were in a fire, what were you thinking going back in there?" She shakes her head as she caresses my cheek with the back of her hand. 

"I—I don't remember," I stammer as I try to recollect my memories. "I was at the Cheesecake Factory an—" 

That was when it hit me. 

I went home looking for Becca, after collapsing at the restaurant. I didn't find her at home, so I started drinking. After a couple of hours of searching for anything that belonged to her, I lit the fireplace and started to burn all of our mementos. Everything needed to go—every item of clothing, especially letters that we used to write each other. Nothing survived, but the house was something we built together, the scent of candied oranges still in the air from the batch Becca made her coworkers last week.

The house needed to go.

I couldn't have left it for someone else to pick this up, so I needed to burn the house down too. I turned off the gas from the fireplace and went into the kitchen, turned off the gas from the stove, nicked the gas lines, and turned it back on. I opened the sugar containers and spread it evenly throughout the kitchen, bedrooms, and living room. I got the remote from the fireplace and walked outside and turned it back on. The house went into flames almost instantly; the explosion rocked the yard, and car alarms went blaring.

But I forgot one thing—the files.

I raced back into the burning home, and tried to reach my office, and that was when I blacked out. 

"How am I alive?" I asked as the images flashed through my mind. 

"You are not, Iz." She wipes the tears falling from my eyes, "you died."