It's actually real this morning – the keys in the door, the opening, Jordan walking through. What is it – 7am? He's been drinking, hasn't slept all night; he's already got a liquor to toss in the fridge.

He looks beautiful. Beautiful and sad.

I feel like I've been holding my breath, waiting for this. I told myself that when it happened, I would run downstairs, fall down at his feet, cry in his lap. But I was so afraid my touch would repulse him. I paced upstairs. We sat separately on the couch until love returned.

And it always does. Always.