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Every fragment of her betrayed soul fought to hate him. To spite him. She couldn't, though. She loved him despite his misfortunate ways and the anguish he caused her. It was even harder to have animosity towards him when he came back in the room not long after, and rather than simply telling her that the bath was ready, picked her up and carried her arid broken body into the small bathroom and laid her in the tub of water which covered her nakedness in the needed warmth. He gently washed her back with a rag that had been lathered in jasmine soap.
There wasn't a need or want to speak by either party, but the suggestive emergence of understanding and peace choked out the need to argue or repent for forgiveness. They said it non-verbally as Christine saw into those beautiful artic eyes and found no foul play of any kind only sorriness that words could not explain. Christine's green eyes forgave like the springing up of life after a forest fire.
He wrapped her snuggly in bed and had every intention of sleeping on the couch but neglected his self-pity to ensure her that he loved her very much. His arms never quit holding the girl in his nightshirt. His heart didn't cease to process the inner turmoil. His mind battled the next decision he had to make for Christine's good. And in the morning Christine woke somewhere distantly familiar, but without him. And he didn't come back.
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