Maeve.

Spencer loved her. He really, truly did. He fell in love with her without ever seeing her face…It doesn't matter what she looks like, he remembered telling one of his friends. I mean, she's already the most beautiful girl in the world to me. When he saw her face for the first time, he was blown away. She was gorgeous, inside and out. When she was with him, those were the happiest moments of his life.

She was beautiful, sweet, kind; everything he could possibly wish for and more.

But as Chaucer so wisely said, “All good things must come to an end.”

She was killed by her stalker, and Spencer couldn't save her. It haunted him. He couldn't eat, he couldn't sleep, and he couldn't get over her.

You had finally convinced him to come to your house after work and talk to you, which he reluctantly did.

He was drinking a cup of tea, his hands shaking as he looked over at you, his voice soft.

“I'm not sleeping because when I do, I dream of Maeve. When I see her, I feel the sweetest relief imaginable. She always asks me to dance, but I can't because I don't know how to dance…because I never even got to touch her when she was alive. I know that if I give into that fantasy, I'll be lost forever, so I force myself to wake up.”