After the day was done, after everything that had happened, it was the dog that finally helped me accept it.

Her clothes weren't in the closet. Her shoes weren't by the door. But I could still smell her perfume. I thought that meant something. Her pictures were still on the wall, the wall that was decorated in the wall paper she picked out. I hated it, but she said I'd get used to it, that it would grow on me. She was right. It did.

It was hot; she always turned on the air conditioner at just the right time. I never remembered until it was too late. Sweating, I hit the switch. It took a long time to cool down the house. But I didn't have anything to do, or nothing I cared to do anyway. So I grabbed a soda from the fridge, plopped into my chair and waited. Waited for her to come back. None of my sodas were left. Just her diets. I hated those. How could she drink those? They were so bitter.

The dog whined. I looked at the clock. I took another sip and put the can down. "It's not going to open Murphy." And that's when I realized she wasn't coming back. I took another drink from the soda can. It tasted right this time.