Author's note: Just a short piece, a vision of life as it too often is. The original ending was clearer; this one leaves their fate up to you.

It's one of those lazy twilight evenings in late June, the kind they spend sprawled on a blanket in the park after dinner, when she turns to him and asks, “What do you think your life would be like if you hadn't met me?” It's not the first time she's asked the question, but something about the way she asks it this time makes him pause, so he considers it carefully.

“I don't know, actually,” he says. “I think I'd be working more than I am already, and I might have someone else in my life, instead of you, but I don't think so. I don't know if I'd be as happy as I am now.”

She laughs, disbelieving. “You couldn't be this happy without me?” She seems pleased with the idea. He doesn't like the sound of her laughter—she sounds entirely too smug—and it inspires something within him.

“Not what I meant,” he says, returning her smile. “I don't think I could be this happy, but I do think I could be happier.” He regrets it as soon as he says it.

All evidence of her smile vanishes, and she stares at him, obviously hurt. “There's nothing I can say to that,” she begins, and stops, looking as though she's going to cry.

“I'm sorry,” he starts, but it's too late, she's already crying, and before he can say anything further, she has started down the hill, toward the car.

They drive home in silence, and she never asks again.