"Baby, please don't leave me." He begs, going down on his knees. Not afraid of losing his pride by doing so. He grabs her waist pulling her close. Wrapping his arms around her, resting his head on her stomach.
"I have to go. You broke my trust one to many times." She utters. Her fingers running through his locks, like she's done many times.
"Please, please don't go." He whispers. A sense of losing in his voice. "Please."
Looking up he notices tears streaming down her face.
"I'm sorry." She disentangles herself from him. Leaning down, she gives him one last kiss. Lingering, before she pulls away, grabs her bag, and walks out the door.
He feels the wetness of the tears before he realizes that he's crying. Reaching up he tries to wipe them away, but it's no use. By the time he gets them they're right back.
"She's gone. She's gone. She's gone." He mutters. Hands on his head, rocking slowly back and forth.
"She's gone. She's gone." He repeats it in his head for weeks. Thinking that if he keeps saying it, maybe one day he'll finally stop hoping she's gonna walk through the apartment door. And walk back into his life.
The apartment is a mess. He hasn't bothered to clean it once. Or the do the dishes. He hasn't done laundry since she left. Hasn't showered either. His friends stop by everyday, bringing food that he'll eat every other day, maybe. They try to talk, but he doesn't listen. His eyes glazed over. Never fully present anymore. For months that's how he is. His friends pay the bills. He started to go to work, but that's only so he stay in the apartment. The apartment, the only thing, that still sorta holds her smell. Piece by piece he puts himself back together. Years pass. He goes out on dates, but none of them are Her. They'll never be Her.
He's cooking, when there's a knock on the door.
"Coming." He shouts. Turning down the stereo system. Opening the door he freezes.
"Hi Porter." She says. Her voice strong.
"Margaret?" He breaths out. More like a question then a statement.
"Hi Porter." She says again.
"Margaret." He states, more for his benefit than hers. "Margaret, what, what are you doing here?"
"I'm here to see you."
"It's been 7 years Margaret. And you're just showing up now."
"I know and I'm sorry. But I really need to tell you something.
"Now's not really a good time. How about I meet you for lunch tomorrow at the café around the corner."
"The one we used to go to?" She asks.
"That's the one."
"Ok. That works for me. See you tomorrow then." She says, starting to walk away.
"I'll meet you there at noon." He tells her before the closing the door.
"Who was at the door?" Clarissa says. Wrapping her arms around his waist. Turning around her draw her close before whispering, "Nobody. Now come on the food's getting cold."
He sees her sitting at the table before she notices him. Taking a moment, he breathes it all in. That fact that she's here.
Walking to the counter, he get a coffee before going to join her by the window.
"Hi." She offers.
They sit in silence for a couple minutes. Neither knowing how to start a conversation.
"I need to tell you something." She finally says.
"Go ahead." He states. Tiring to look at her.
"I don't know how to say this." She whispers.
"Just blurt it out. I find that the easiest way to share hard information." He jokes. A slight smile coming to her lips, before it disappears, as quickly as it came.
"Hang on." Holding up one perfectly manicured finger, she turns and digs into her purse. The light reflects off the ring into his face, before he realizes that she is in fact wearing and engagement ring.
"Who's the lucky guy?" He asks.
"What?" She mutters. Clearly distracted by her search for whatever she's looking for.
Reaching forward he touches her left ring finger.
"Who's the lucky guy?" He repeats.
"Oh. His name is Jack." And that's all she gives. Not offering anymore information, and he doesn't ask.
"Here it is." She pulls out her phone. Turning it around she shows him a picture of a little boy. He smiling up at the camera clearly happy. Playing with his toys. A laugh evident on his face.
"Cute kid. Who is he?" He says.
"His name is Isaiah. He's the light of my life."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because he's your son."
"What?" He whispers.
"He's your son. He's been asking about who his dad is, and I thought he should be able to know his father."
"Why didn't you tell him your fiancé is his father?"
"Because I didn't start dating Jack until Isaiah was 4. He know Jack wasn't his father."
"Oh." He sighs.
"Yeah oh. All I'm asking is you meet him that's all. He just wants to know who his father is."
"Ok. I'll meet him."
"Did you really think I would say no?" He asks.
"I wasn't sure how'd you react." She answers.
"When would the best time be for me to meet him?"
"Does 3 o'clock work, or is that too soon?"
"That works. I'll meet you here at 3 then." He gets up and leaves.
At 3, he finds himself back at the little café, his eyes searching for Margaret. He finds her at the same table. This time with a little boy, with blue glasses in her lap. Walking up to the table he sits down.
"Hi." Margaret says. A twinkle of happiness in her eyes.
"Hi." He whispers. His eyes locked on the little boy.
"Mommy, who's this?" The boy asks.
"Isaiah, this is Porter. Your father." She states.
"My father?" He wonders.
"That's right." Her eyes on him, and not on the little boy in her arms.
Reaching across the table, the boy offers his hand. Like he's seen his mom do. He raises his arm, so the boy doesn't have to reach to far.
"Hi. I'm Isaiah."
"Hi Isaiah. I'm Porter." One little lonesome tear rolling down his cheek.