She wanted to believe me.

I could see the sympathy in her eyes. She understood my frustration but could do nothing to ease it. I just wanted her to look at me like she used to.

Like when she’d first wake up and smile at me, her eyes full of hope and comfort.

Like when we would talk and she would watch me so intensely that I felt like the only other person on the planet.

Like when we would make love and fire and passion would wash over us staring deep into each other’s eyes, feeling each other’s heartbeat, breathing as one.

She looked away from me, turning to leave as there was nothing more she could do or say. I grabbed her hand.

“Wait. Will you do one last thing for me?”

I pulled her close to me, now holding both of her hands. She looked up at me, my eyes began to swell.

“Dance with me? Just one more time.”

She paused a moment. Hesitating. Not wanting me to hold on to hope but not wanting to be the one to shatter my being, she nods.

I pull her close slowly, making these last moments together take as long as possible.

I wrap my hands around her back as hers go around my neck. I close my eyes as we begin to sway and in her ear I whisper our song. The song that played on our first date. The song that played as I proposed, as we married, that we would sing to our son to make him fall asleep.

Finally she holds me closer and rests her head on my shoulder, I can feel her crying. I join her. We dance in the silence of our tears. She pulls away from me, her hands on my face, she looks deep into my eyes screaming for recognition.

“I’m sorry.” She says torn and upset, “I wish I knew you. I really do.”

With that she pulls away, breaking our dance and my heart. I crumble to the ground as the door closes.