He swept each glittering shard into darkness. He watched the red wine gush from the bottle and let the bottle smash. He walked up the stairs, each step an Everest, and collected the votive candles, white and pure, light everlasting to shine on her soul. He tried to sweep up the rose petals and found that they clung like fingers to the brush so he did it by hand. He burned the picture and the note, stripped the bed, threw out the sheets, remade it.

He still slept on the couch that night and for a dozen nights after that.

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