He tried frantically to piece together last night’s events.“Was it all a dream?” he heard himself asking.In an attempt to recover, he lifted his head from the pillow, but the aching and pounding defeated the simple act. He lay his head down just as quickly. The night went by like a taxi cab speeding down Second Avenue. He slept for a few hours more.He knew nothing of the hour. He awoke later reaching across the bed. The stillness of the bedroom offered no response. He urinated in the bathroom, and yet he could not hear a sound, save for the splashing against the toilet bowl. He checked himself in the mirror and discovered clotted scratch marks about his face. He found the alarm clock flung far across the room. Three p.m. glowed in digital sanity. He turned on the light. His heart jumped. The stained sheets of his bed had not only been tangled but also ripped. He called for his wife. He searched through every room but could find neither his wife nor the baby Imam. He had missed a. We related in the pain of losing the love of our lives. Another couple years had passed and we needed move on from heartache. I struggled in the dating scene, who wanted date a twenty-one year old widow, and single mom? Kyle struggled with the concept of dating, he hadn't dated anyone since high school, and dating trends had changed. Eventually my stepdad nudged Kyle into asking me out, and so began our new chapter in life. Kyle was perfect, after just a month or two things were going well, and becoming serious. People had made comments about we would be the couple engaged before we dated a year, but I never believed them. Sure Kyle and I had talked about marriage, he even knew my ring size. I could tell the day of the Super Bowl party he was anxious, but I didn't think much of it. My stepdad had a huge party every year, and this year was no different. Carolina and Denver where playing, and everyone was cheering for Denver. At half time Kyle shouted he had an announcement he needed.
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