It's horrifying. The empty space where his motorcycle should be. It genuinely startles you when you first walk into the garage because... well, he's here, but his bike isn't. And that's just not possible. You go back through your memory from the past thirty seconds. His bike wasn't in the small driveway, and it wasn't parked out on the road in front of the house. And he would never trust anyone else to take care of his precious bike if it needed to be fixed. So, what...?

You push the door open, hiking your purse up on your shoulder. It was another long day at the diner, and you can't wait to take a shower, get in bed and lay with your boyfriend like you always do. It's the highlight of your day, and you know he feels the same.

"Luke, where's your-...?" Your voice falls flat. There are rose petals on the floor, in a trail, leading through the small house. And for the first time in a long time, you look passed the damaged floor boards and cracking paint on the walls. The water stains on the ceiling. All you can focus on are those little red petals, and the soft sound of music coming from your shared bedroom. Nothing Else Matters by Metallica.

You quietly make your way through the house, carefully stepping around rose petals. You didn't want to step on them, for some reason. You didn't want to ruin them. You frown as you approach the closed bedroom door, slowly pushing it open. "Luke, what's all-...?" You fall silent for a second time.

He's on one knee, at the end of the rose petal trail. On the bed is a bottle of champagne- the nice kind, how did he afford that?- and a pair of car keys- okay, what the fuck? He's holding a little box and you know what's inside. You feel your eyes growing warm and wet, the bridge of your nose stinging.

Fucking finally!