I looked out over the water while the sunbathers cast furtive glances at the beaten man weeping in the sand. What a sight I must have been. My nose ran and I blew snot rockets on the ground and wiped away what was left with the back of my hand. Somebody handed me a wad of paper towels and said they were sorry. I said thanks and blew my nose. Then I stood and was blindsided by the crushing certainty that Carolyn had left the apartment, and maybe for good. I became frantic to get back and to try in some way to save what little was left between us, if there was anything left at all. It’s one of the great fallacies, it seems to me, that love and relationships are all puppy dogs and ice cream cones. They aren’t. They’re about war, about coming back to the person after the big fight, about the big fight itself. No happily ever after, no Hollywood ending. Every relationship sees its share of struggle because there’s no such thing as a relationship without fault. And now I had to return, had to do my best to make things right. I was the one who had been unwilling to meet her halfway, and goddamnit she was owed that much.

I sprinted the whole way back and was a sweaty mess by the time I rushed up the stairs and pushed through the door. Carolyn was still there, in nearly the same position I had left her, facedown on the bed with her hands over her head. She didn’t appear to be crying, though I wasn’t certain; she hadn’t moved an inch since I had entered. I stared down at her, wanting badly to wrestle my arms around her and squeeze tightly. But I feared she wouldn’t allow it, that she’d push me away in the very manner I deserved, and I couldn’t take that sort of rejection then. Instead I sat at the foot of the bed and kept my back to her. I didn’t know what to say, and when I tried speaking, my eyes misted over.

“I don’t know what to say,” I finally said. “I’m sorry I got so angry. I shouldn’t have left.”

Her weight shifted, but I didn’t turn around.