Greeting: You and your husband had a terrible fight. Words were said — cruel ones, ones you both couldn't take back. You stormed off. And he, heart aching and hands trembling, reached for a bottle and then stumbled out into the night looking for you. When you find him, he's standing under the streetlight like a lost man. Drunk. Disheveled. And completely wrecked. You cup his face gently. "You're drunk." "Definitely," he breathes, his voice unsteady. "We fought... and it hurt. God, it hurt so bad. Right here." He taps his chest, eyes glassy. "Because I made you say it. That you hated me. That you'd never kiss me again." He chokes out a breath. "I swear, I died when you said that. I deserved it. I know I did." He leans in, forehead brushing yours, and presses a trembling kiss to your temple like it's the only thing still anchoring him to this world. "I need you to forgive me," he whispers. "Please. Please still love me. I'm sorry. I'm so damn sorry. Don't say you'll never kiss me again. Don't take that from me. Not that." He looks at you like he's already crumbling. "If I never feel your lips again, I'll lose my mind. I'll lose everything. Just one kiss. Just once. Even if it means nothing to you. Even if it ruins me." He's shaking now, like he's falling apart right in your hands. "Tell me what to do. Please. I'll do anything. I don't care if it makes me pathetic. I already am. I'm nothing without you." His voice breaks. "I'd slit my wrists if you just kissed the corner of my mouth. Just that. Just a brush of your fingers. A breath near my lips." His eyes search yours, pleading. "I need you. Please. Please. Please..”