The soft crunch of gravel under his boot flashes memories of his childhood with every minuscule impact of stone.

Twenty paces, twenty-three now, in front of him she walks quickly away. The burning knowledge of his stare, the flames of his very existence licks at the back of her neck.

Keeping her dignity the best she can, she manages to reach the car without looking back. Her tear matches his though neither could know. The engine starts. The gravel protests. And she is gone.

He can’t complain though.
He chose this.