This micro fiction is a love letter to my husband, Mati Roy, a most dedicated life logger who would capture my entire life as well, if he could.

Without

“I'm out of vanilla. It calls for a teaspoon but we all know that's a minimum.” Distraught, she threw the empty bottle into the trash and began to measure out the flour.

“I'll go get some,” he said, uncertain of what else to do. He stepped into the hallway and held out his hand. A fresh bottle of vanilla extract appeared in his hand. He had no idea what would upset her or confuse her. She was brand new.

“Really?” delighted when she saw it, she gazed directly into his eyes. “My hero!”

His heart shattered and glowed and tumbled in intense mixed emotions as their eyes met and she praised him with her generous smile.

It was her, and it wasn't. How could he tell? She looked just the same. Her eyes, though. Was she really there?

She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and went back to mixing. He could feel the warmth of her, but the smell of her was missing. Did I do the right thing?

The ache of missing her had been there all along but it now crashed like a waiting tsunami. Of course I did. I can't do this without her.

He sat down on the stool and watched her.

He'd always planned to bring her back. When the doctor asked him to go somewhere quiet, to sit, he knew. He was ready.

But now that she was here, in front of him, he realized he wasn't ready at all.