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Claire often woke at night with tear tracks on her cheeks; he had seen them countless times.
He thought of marrying her — it was her, not Evelyn. But she was gone.
On the night he was blacking out drunk, he called and called Claire's number.
Friends told him to go home, but he insisted he would wait: "She'll come. Claire always comes."
He stood in the cold through the night until morning. He finally understood — Claire was no longer his Claire.
He had cut their ties.
He couldn't let go.
He kept the repaired photographs in their old place.
He watched Claire's life in secret as if spying — seeing her become happier, laugh more, find a job she loved and make friends. He watched her take someone else's hand.
That day he drank himself near death, hooked to an IV and lying against a hospital's white wall. He realized he was the one who couldn't get out of it.
