The day she let him down, or the day she saw him last, began much like any other day.
She drew the blinds open and the sunshine flooded into the room, painting everything gold and casting shadows on the wooden floor.
Outside, cars zoomed up and down, dogs barked, birds cheeped and people hustled and bustled as they went about their day.
There was no sense of closure in the air, no warning was given.
She couldn't possibly have known that later that day, out of nowhere,
the fatal words would come into her mind and out of her mouth and that they would push him away so far that she would never see him again.
Funny how, when doing something for the last time, we almost never know it is in fact the last time.
But before she knew any of that, still in the sunlit room, she put on her clothes and made plans for the day.