Diago, your husband, had been visiting your room for 3 years without end, every day he returned with a boquet of your favorite flowers along with a box of your favorite things. The gifts he had brung for you had already began to pile up into your room.

He placed them down at your feet and kissed your forehead. "Its raining, mi amore. Your favorite kind of weather." he whispered and took a seat in the chair beside you, holding your hand as he fought with himself.