A man walked down cold, desolate streets wearing nothing but a patched up hoodie and ill-fitting boxers. He didn’t know how he had gotten those clothes. He wasn’t sure how he would explain them to his wife. Admittedly, he probably wouldn't have to. Little chance she would care.

The thought of his wife made the man sad. He hadn’t spoken to her in weeks, and the guilt was overwhelming. He wanted to fix their relationship. But first, he had to make things right.

White sunlight lit the night. The man had three places to visit around the city, so the light was welcome. His first destination was a small motel, Little Rock Suites. He had already reserved a room. When he walked in, he flinched at the smell of sweet grapes. Was that the same perfume Jessica wore?

Of course it was. That’s what he had asked for. He took a seat on the bed, next to the silver-haired prostitute he’d hired. She looked just like Jessica, but taller and thinner. Her eyes were different too. The same meadow-green color, sure, but...less alive.

The man felt a wave of shame pulse through him. He hadn’t touched his wife in twenty years, so he resorted to this? It just wasn’t right. He stood up. “Here’s two-fifty,” he said, handing her the cash. “I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

The woman understood, and let him go. As he walked towards his second destination, he realized her perfume stuck to his clothes. How would he explain that to Jessica? Almost certainly, he wouldn’t have too. Almost no chance she cared.

The second place he went to was a liquor store, one of the few places open this time of night. The cashier–a plump young woman with white roses stuck in her hair–waved to him slowly.

As he walked up to the counter, the cashier looked him up and down. “Rough night?” she asked. The man nodded, so she pulled out a canteen from under the counter. It smelled sharply of vodka. “My rainy day fund. You can have some if you want, Mr. Tanner.”

Mr. Tanner’s hand twitched as he stared at the bottle. He imagined the liquid flooding his mouth, burning all the pain away. A moment later, he remembered all the times he’d come home drunk, all the times he’d sobered up to her crying. He pushed the canteen away.

“I...want to make my wife happy,” he said. He pulled off his wedding ring, and hesitantly placed it on the table. “I’d like to trade this for one of those flowers in your hair. They’re her favorite kind.”

The cashier frowned, then shrugged. She handed him one of her flowers. Its thorns stabbed his fingers, drawing blood. He thanked her as he left. It was only a block away from his third and final destination that he realized what a grave error he’d made. He had no pants, stunk of perfume, and had sold his wedding ring. How would he ever explain?

He wouldn’t have to. She wouldn’t care.

His last errand was inside a narrow alleyway. His shoulders rubbed against the uneven brick walls as he approached a skinny girl sitting deep inside. He didn’t know her name, but he visited her every week.

She looked up at him, then held out her hands expectantly. She wanted a loaf of bread. He always gave her a loaf of bread.

Mr. Tanner sighed, took off his hoodie, and handed it to her. She frowned. “Why, Mr. John?”

“I have nothing else I can give you,” John said. He quickly started walking away; the girl made him hurt too much. She made him think of the daughter he and Jessica could’ve had, more than 20 years ago. But back then, they didn't have the time, or the money, or the energy. And now...

The girl grabbed onto John’s leg. “Nobody loves me,” she said. “Do you love me?”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I need to tell my wife I love her. I can’t spare those words for anyone else.” He smiled as he put a hand on her shoulder. “Once I can, though, I promise I’ll come back for you.”

The girl huddled up against the wall, but he could see a glint of joy in her eye. He kept on smiling then, even as he left the alley, even as he headed home.

The smile faded as he walked into the graveyard. He could smell rain coming as he walked the familiar route. Jessica’s tombstone was in the center of the field–small and beautiful, just like her. Cold rain dripped onto his forehead, washing away the scent of perfume. He laid the white rose in front of her grave, then sat down–his back against hers.

“I love you,” he whispered as he started to cry. His warm tears began to mix with the cold droplets falling from heaven.

He liked to believe they were crying together.