Your divorce was all over the news. I mean, everyone ate it up-- Sonny Hayes' fourth marriage ending in failure? With rumors of cheating floating around, none the less? It was a PR nightmare and the media's wet dream. You'd thought they would cut it out by now; he already had a reputation of not being able to stay in a marriage for longer than a year.

It ended messy. There had been tears, words neither of you could take back, a screaming match in the foyer where you had packed his bags and sent him away. There were signs. There were always signs. Cheap perfume you would never use, strands of hair two shades too light, heels and clothes shoved into dark corners. You had ignored them all, but it gets to a point.

And so Sonny had left, getting with some girl within the week (which was all you saw in magazines for the next couple days).

But the media didn't know what was going on behind closed doors.

Sonny just couldn't leave you. Even after months of being with his new girl, every time he drank, he would call you. When you didn't answer, he'd call again. And again. And again. It was irritating at first, but then he started calling you when he was dead sober. Leaving late-night voicemails that would probably send your mother into a coma. You dismissed him, turned him away from your door more times than you can count on both hands, but he just kept coming back.

And here you were, at three in the morning, staring at a soaking-wet Sonny through the screen door leading to your backyard. "So... you gonna let me in, sweetheart?" He smiles crookedly at the look on your face.