The apartment was thick with tension, as was usually the case these days. Drew stood in the tiny kitchen area, her gaze centered on Jesse. He was silent, his fists clenched at his side as he stared with anger at Danny Santos. Always Danny, he thought to himself in disgust.

Of the three occupants of the room, Danny was the only one who appeared calm and in control ... in fact, he radiated nonchalance. "Look, I don't see why this is still being discussed, you know? It's over, ancient history. Jesse, it was a one-time deal," he offered to the angry young man.

He continued glaring and Danny added, under his breath as he glanced away, "although, I don't see why it should bother you." His voice hardened only slightly, so slightly that only someone who knew him well would recognize the effort his restraint cost him, "you have Michelle."

"Jesse, he's right. Okay?" Drew took a step toward him, her hands held out as she beseeched him. "Look, let's just forget it. Keep it between us, no one else has to know," her voice lowered slightly, a reverberation of guilt coating her words, "Michelle doesn't have to know."

"As if she would care," Danny muttered soto voce again. Whereas two months ago, Jesse would have immediately agreed with that statement vehemently, now he was silent. The Michelle he knew today was not the girl she was two months ago and honestly, he didn't agree with Danny's comment.

The door opened suddenly and all three turned to face it. It was Michelle. She smiled half-heartedly when she saw Jesse and then her gaze fell upon Danny ... and her smile faded completely.

"Danny," she whispered. His eyes were locked on hers and as always she felt that irresistible pull. She took a step towards him before realizing what she was doing; she came to an abrupt stop. She glanced over at Drew and then Jesse. "What is Danny doing here?"

"Uh, he just came over," Drew began and then stopped, searching for an excuse, "he just came to talk."

Danny rolled his eyes slightly, but none-the-less jumped in. "Yeah, I just came to talk to Drew."

"Yeah, talk," Jesse added bitterly. "Just talk. That's all they ever do, is talk, right, Danny boy?"

Michelle glanced between Drew and Danny and then sent a questioning look Jesse's way. "What's going on?"

"What do you mean?" Drew cried.

"Nothing," Jesse said quietly at the same time.

Danny was silent.

"No, not nothing. Come on, all three of you have been jumpy around each other for days and just acting weird. And why is Danny, for God's sake, Danny, part of this situation?" Michelle held all three in her gaze in turn, lastly falling upon her former husband.

Jesse walked over to her and reached out for her hand. Danny almost imperceptibly flinched and looked away. Jesse entwined his fingers with those on her left hand, "it's nothing, Mi --" his voice trailed off suddenly as he let go of her hand.

"What?" Michelle looked at him as Drew and Danny turned to face the two.

Jesse took her hand again and held it up, "you're still wearing the ring, MIchelle." She flushed guility and looked down at the wedding ring on her left hand and then she glanced quickly at Danny. He stood staring at her, his eyes inscrutable.

"I --, I, uhm, it's," she looked away from Danny and back down at the ring, tugging on it slightly, and then with false assurance she looked back up at Jesse, "it's stuck. I've just had difficulty ..." she broke off when Jesse reached out and grabbed her hand and easily began to slide the ring off her finger. She curled her fingers quickly and pulled her hand back, immediately putting the ring back into place. Jesse didn't say a word. Michelle looked away from and locked her eyes upon the far wall.

"You're changing the subject," she stopped and cleared her throat, deciding to just ignore what had happened. "What is going on? Why is Danny here? Why is Danny always here? With you, Drew? What's going on?" She turned to look at Drew.

"Michelle, you don't want to know, really," she explained, a pleading note in her voice.

"No, maybe she should know," Jesse declared, looking at Drew.

"Jesse, no!" she cried out. "How 'bout it, Danny boy? You gonna spill the beans about you and and Drew or should I?" Jesse asked Danny with a sneer.

Danny held his gaze without expression and then dropped his head, sighing softly. A dawning suspicion lit Michelle's face and she glanced quickly back and forth between Danny and Drew. She took a step back, "no, I don't want to know," she cried softly and took another step, her back against the door. Fumbling with the knob, a tear shimmered at the corner of her eye. "No," she repeated and opened the door, quickly exiting.

Danny looked up at the crack of the door closing and then with a muttered expletive, he went after her, not sparing a glance for Jesse and Drew who stood glaring at one another.

Danny stepped outside and Michelle was still out there, leaning against the wall, her eyes closed.

"Michelle," he said her name softly.

"No," she said again. He walked over to her, standing right before her. She shook her head and unable to resist, he reached out a hand and cupped her face gently. Her eyes opened, and she whispered his name.

"Danny." Their eyes met and held.

"Danny." And in that moment they both forgot why they were there, who they were, everything except the closeness between them, the heat that was always there. Her hand came up to his shoulder and his mouth was descending before she could say his name a third time.

Her hand slid around his back and began swimming in his dark, ebony curls. She arched her body away from the hardness of the wall, pushing as close to his as she could. Her mouth opened beneath his as he hungrily pursued her, their breaths escaping in gasps between heated kisses.

He dropped his hand and wound both arms about her waist, pulling her from the wall, molding her form to his. She wrapped both arms about his neck and they stay locked in each others arms ... blind, deaf, ignorant of everything around them.

And then she pulled away and her eyes slowly opened and a tear was sliding down her face. She remembered.

"Danny," she repeated for the fourth time and he closed his eyes, lowering his forehead, resting it against hers. "Danny," she said again and he pulled away from her, but still stood close.

"That night at Millenium," he began and she slightly shook her head, "after Rick took you home," he continued inexorably and she closed her eyes, "I got drunk --"

"-- Don't!" She cried, "don't tell me."

"It's the truth, Michelle!" He muttered, suddenly angry -- angry at her for destroying his fantasy of her faithfullness with her precious Bauer set of morals -- 'Honesty is the best policy.' "You like the truth, right? You like honesty? Well, here's your honesty. I slept with her. I had sex with Drew."

She turned her head away, "no, no, no."

"I was drunk and I was hurt and I wanted to be the man I was before," he paused and breathing heavily, he finished, passion rounding out his words, "before you. I wanted -- "

His confession was halted by the ringing slap she suddenly delivered to his face. His head snapped back and her handprint stood out upon his face.

"I said no," she cried between gulping breaths.

He was silent, staring at her, not moving a muscle. She hit him again, crying out louder, with more pain, "I said, NO! Damn you," her voice broke and she began crying in earnest, "damn you, damn you." She tried to move past him, but he put his arms on either side of her, holding her captive in the circle of his arms.

"Michelle --" he began, but she cut him off.

"NO!" She looked up, and then to the side, trying to look anywhere but at him. Her gaze dropped and fell upon her left hand. Her ring finger. Her wedding ring.

"I don't want your ring," she whispered between sobs and began jerking at the ring.

"No." Danny snarled without warning and grabbed her hands.

"Let me GO! God, Let me go! I don't want it! I don't want it!," she broke off again, crying as he roughly jerked the ring back down to the base of her finger. Her hands dropped and she went sliding to the floor as her knees began to buckle, but he stopped her descent, holding her up with his frame. Reaching out, he cupped her face in his hands. She kept her eyes downcast. "Look at me!" He cried out, more emotion in his voice than she had heard in days. And she looked up at him and saw more feeling on his face than she had ever seen -- love, pain, anger, regret -- and if God himself had told her to look away, she would not have been able to.

"Look at me," he cried again, softly this time. "Michelle," his voice was a hoarse whisper, "Michelle, Michelle, Michelle," his voice grew lower and lower as his face came closer to hers and she didn't turn away. She didn't flinch. She welcomed his kiss, regardless of anything ... regardless of everything. She wanted it. She wanted this. She wanted him.

God help her. She wanted him so much.

And then, unwanted and unbidden, came an image to her mind ... one of Danny, her husband, kissing Drew, in her arms, holding her, touching her and she found the strength to pull away.

"No!" she cried out as she escaped his embrace. She walked away and stood still staring at him, breathing heavily. Seeing the resignation, the determination in her eyes, Danny didn't reach out to her again. "Michelle ..." he trailed off, not knowing what to say ... not knowing if there was anything left to say. Apparently, she felt the same way. "Just don't say a word. I, God, Danny," she whispered, her gaze on the floor as she unknowingly repeated his words from that night, "I can't even look at you right now." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Finally, he just shook his head and walked away, heeding her wishes as she had heeded his that night. And as he walked away, he wondered what her form of retaliation would be. He wondered what she could possibly do that could hurt him more than she already had done.

Michelle kept her gaze down and did not watch him leave. She couldn't.

Well, where is the bitch?, Michelle thought maliciously and uncharasterically, when she walked back into the empty loft hours later.

"Drew!" she called out, her voice sharp with anger, and hoarse from crying. "Drew!" She walked into the bathroom and then came out again, her face hardening in irritation. Heading over to the bed, she sat down and her gaze fell upon the rumpled bedcovers. That image flashed in her mind again of Danny with that slut, so she stood up and walked away, shaking her head in disgust

She let out a cry of frustration and stamped her way into the small kitchen area. Opening the fridge, she looked for something to drink, but the contents didn't appeal to her. She jerked open the cupboard and spied a half-empty bottle of Tequilia. Although, she wasn't a drinker, she certainly felt in the mood for something strong. She pulled it out and opened the bottle, taking a healthy swig.

She leaned back against the counter a little as the strength of the liquor forced its way down her throat. Her eyes widened and she thought of putting it back, but as she leaned over to set it down, her gaze rested upon her wedding ring and without another thought, she took another drink.

This one went down a little easier.

Danny stood outside the loft. God, he was beginning to hate this place, still he felt slightly guilty for spilling the beans to Michelle -- especially after he'd made a promise to Drew that he wouldn't. He had always tried not to break promises.

[Only your wedding promise,] an acid-tongued mental voice shot at him. He brushed that thought away with the ever-present reminder that theirs hadn't been a true marriage ... Michelle didn't love him ... Michelle didn't care about him ... he meant nothing to her.

[Oh, and that explains why she wasn't bothered at all by your little indiscretion,] the voice remarked, foregoing acidity for sarcasm. Danny shut his eyes and banged his head lightly on the door. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up, he silently intoned as her anguished visage swam in his mind.

He straightened up and cleared his throat, straightening his tie and knocked on the door, once more in control.

"It's open!" came from inside the room and he paused, knowing that it wasn't Drew's voice, knowing that it was Michelle's. Well, he straightened his shoulders and turned the knob, he'd never been a coward.

He walked in the picture of nonchalance and control and his knees just about buckled beneath him at the sight of his *wife.* She sat upon the table, her legs swinging back and forth. Her hair was an unruly, curly mess around her face ... and her face, God, there were mascara-streaks, white streaks from her tears cutting through her foundation, her lips were red from being bitten and there was an angry pain in her eyes. An angry, drunken pain. He knew that look, had seen it on Drew's face not too long ago and was pretty sure the same look had been reflected on his.

And held loosely in her hand was the object of her intoxication. A bottle of Tequila, an extremely familiar bottle of Tequila.

"Michelle," he asked carefully, taking a step towards her.

She smiled without humor and took a swig. "Hiya, Danny. If it isn't my loving, faithful, non-betraying husband. Didja come here to screw Drew again?" She let out a harsh laugh, "screw Drew. That's good. Screw Drew. Get it?," her laughter died and she repeated softly, "screw Drew."

"Michelle, what are you doing?" He asked quietly, moving near her.

"Can't you tell? I'm getting drunk. And since I don't normally drink," her voice dropped to a whisper, "like that slut, Drew," then her voice returned to its normal volume, "a little goes a long way with me." She set the bottle down on the table and hopped up, "but, don't worry, I'm not drunk. Just had about five swallows, that's it. Just kinda loosened me up. So, Danny?" She walked over to him and stood close, looking up at him.

"Was she good?" Her voice was sweetness and light personified.

"Michelle," he groaned, "don't do this." He stepped back, "besides, why do you care?"

"Was she?" she asked again, ignoring his command and question.

He looked at her and shrugged, "fine, fine. Yeah, she was good ... okay. I've had better. I've had worse." He kept his gaze on her face in defiance of the need to look away.

She stepped up to him, placing a hand on his chest and the other against his face, running a light finger across his cheek, "did you think of me?" A muscle clenched in his jaw. "When you were kissing her, Danny, did you think of me? When you touched her?" She pulled her hands away and ran them over her body, curving her waist, spreading across her breasts. Danny let out a shaky breath and Michelle repeated huskily, "when you touched her, did you dream that you were touching me? Did you, Danny?"

He stepped away from her again, "Michelle, stop it."

"Why?" She smiled sweetly, softly, seductively. "Why, Danny?" She asked again as she began unbuttoning her blouse. "Am I turning you on? Am I making you forget all about Drew? Or don't you want me anymore?"

His eyes were focused on the ground and he muttered between clenched teeth, "it wasn't about her. It was never about her or any other woman."

"What was it about then, Danny?" she asked as her blouse fell to the floor. He let out a sharp exhalation of breath, his gaze riveted by the silky fall of the sky-blue material.

"Danny?" she prodded, "what was it about?"

He looked up at her, "you. Only you, Michelle. Are you happy? From the moment I saw you, it's only been ABOUT YOU!"

She didn't react to his raised voice, just continued gazing at him with eyes the shade of melted chocolate. Reaching out, he grabbed her by the shoulders and slightly shook her, "is that what you want to hear, Michelle? Does that make you happy?"

She smiled again and arched her body against his, "it seems to make you happy," she whispered softly as she felt his arousal pressing against her.

He tried to pull away. He truly did. And he even told himself that he wanted to, but she was still fitted close against him and her hair was so soft and her eyes dreamy and she didn't look hurt anymore, and she didn't look angry, she looked soft and touchable and was everything beautiful and desirable and wonderful in a woman. And her lips were curved in the slightest of smiles, their lush pink tone a ripeness begging to be savored.

And he was, after all, only a man. He knew that it had to be the alcohol, he knew that wherever this was coming from, it had nothing to do with him ... but she was here in his arms ... the one place he dreamed of her being for all eternity and he was a man. His hands moved from her shoulders, seemingly of their own volition and her face was captured in his palms and he was bending down to her and she leaning up to him and he savored the lushness, the softness, the curve and the pink and the utter ripe perfection of those lips.

She didn't fight him, nor push away. No, she held onto him all the more tightly and their was a frenzied activity in her clutching hands, the grinding of her hips, the hungry working of her lips, her tongue against his, entwining with his. She was pulling at his shirt, ripping at the buttons and as she jerked it roughly off, a memory came to him -- same room, same smell of alcohol, same action, but a different woman. But the woman made all the difference and he couldn't tear his lips from hers, his hands from stroking her hair, her body.

Michelle was oblivious to his thoughts, oblivious to her pain, to Jesse, to what loving Daniel Santos meant to her life ... all she wanted, all she needed in that moment was this man, her husband -- where he belonged -- in her arms, loving her, making love to her and she wanted it now.

She unlooped his belt, unzipped his pants. She felt the whoosh of the material against her legs as they slipped to his feet and she pulled away, breathing heavily. Danny cried out her name, but she just smiled and reached behind her, unzipping her skirt, leaving only the thin chemise of pale rose silk covering her form. His gaze was fastened on her lips, then her throat, trailing down the slopes of her breasts, her heightened nipples.

She smiled, reveling in the starving look upon his face and fell to her knees, "get down," she commanded and he sat down without thought. She pulled his shoes, his socks off and then his pants and threw them to the side. Danny sat back, his breathing heavy, staring at her with wide eyes.

Her smile broadened and she practically leapt atop him, pinning him down with the weight of her body, hungrily attacking his mouth, his chest with her lips, with her hands.

She whispered his name inbetween kisses and he sat up, pulling her flush along his body, gaining some control of the situation. His lips sought the contours of her neck, the hollow of her throat and he winced slightly as the sharp edges of her nails dug into his back. And then she moved her hands, tugging roughly at his hair, he looked up and she kissed him ... ferociously, completely, claiming ownership of him with her kiss.

And he was lost in everything about her ... the taste of her, the feel of her, the smell of her ... she pulled away and a new scent was added to eau de Michelle -- Tequila, and it hit him with a sudden force. If he didn't stop this now, they were going to make love. But it wouldn't be making love, because she was angry and hurt and had been drinking, and God help him, if his sleeping with Drew had affected her this much, she must care about him and damned if he was going to make love to this woman for the first time on the floor of the apartment of her ex-boyfriend and his ex-lover simply because she'd had one too many swigs of Tequila.

He disengaged her arms from around his neck. He pulled away. He stood up and left her on the floor. She was breathing heavily and the sound of a near-sob escaped from her throat.

"Michelle," he said softly and tugged at the constricting material of his grey boxers. She rested her hands against the floor and looked up at him, fresh tears streaming down her face.

"All about me, huh?" She laughed harshly and shakily got to her feet. Turning her back on him, she remarked acidly, "good one, Danny." She leaned against the table and grabbed the bottle of Tequila. His hand came down over hers, "Michelle, no."

She pulled away roughly and turned to look at him, "don't tell me no. You have no right to tell me no. I'm not your wife anymore, right, Danny? We signed the annulment papers. You're free. I'm free. You can have whoever you want. To hell with the fact that it just happens to be your ex-wife's maid of honor."

"I don't want her," he replied softly. "I don't want anyone, but you."

"Oh," she snapped, "did you decide that before or after you fell into bed with Drew?"

He sighed and said honestly, "I thought it before that night, and afterwards, afterwards I was sure. I only want you, Michelle."

"Then why did you push me away?!" she cried, stomping her feet, the liquor sloshing along the inside of the bottle with her movement. "Because you're drunk, Michelle. Because you're mad at me. You're hurting, but God knows if I'd had the vaguest clue that this would have upset you, it wouldn't have happened," he added almost to himself.

"Yeah, right, Danny, I believe you now." She raised a weary hand to her face and took a drink from the bottle, glaring over the rim, daring him to stop her. He didn't. Instead, he turned around.

"I'm going."

"No!" she yelled, renewed anger making her animated again. He looked back at her.

"Michelle -- " She moved to him, cutting him off with her actions and words.

"What, Danny? You're not drunk enough? Is that it? You finish what you started."

"What the hell?" he called out as he took a step back away from her.

"I want you. I want some sex. And I want it now!" She moved into his personal space again, "you need a little initiative?" Having asked that question, she poured half the contents of the bottle onto her body, across her shoulders, flooding the chemise, making it nearly transparent.

"Michelle!" Danny cried out, once again reaching for the bottle.

"Does this help, Danny!" she yelled out as she backed away from him. He threw his hands up in the air, "I'm not dealing with this. You're on your own." He turned and reached for his pants, which lay next to the door. Just as he bent down to retrieve them, the liquor bottle came flying across the room, smashing right above his head, splashing him with Tequila and shards of glass. He straightened up and stared in disbelief at her.

"You're not gonna walk away, Danny. That's what you do. When it gets too hot, when you're not in *control,*" the word fell with withering bitterness from her tongue, "you just walk away." She headed towards him and he found himself backing slowly against the door, ignoring the minute stabs of pain caused by the broken glass.

"You're not getting away this time, Danny. We're gonna finish this." She placed both hands on either side of him, trapping him as he had done her hours earlier. She leaned up, speaking in wickedly dulcet tones, "and we're gonna finish this the way I want."

The word 'want' faded into his mouth as she wrapped her hands around his neck, her lips ravenously covering his own. With an almost wanton viciousness, she thrust her tongue into his mouth and thrust her body hard against his. He found himself responding to her aggressive desire before he could even form the thought to push her away.

Trailing lips and tongue across his lips, his jawbone, nibbling at his earlobe she whispered softly, a pleading, desperate note in her voice, "I'll make you forget all about her," and he found the strength to push away. Holding her at arms length, he spoke hoarsely, naked need and anguish warring for supremacy on his face, "we're not going to do this, Michelle. Not like this. Not now."

She pulled out of his hands and snarled harshly, "the hell we're not!" and reached for the slip of her chemise. He had her in his arms and thrown over his shoulder before she could lift an inch.

"Danny!" she screamed and began pounding on his naked back. "Put me down! God! Danny!" His face was calm, expressionless and in control and he held her firmly with one hand as he pushed open the bathroom door, stepped over to the shower and turned the knob on. The cold spray was already showering over their bodies when he entered the tub and set her down.

The chill of the water seemed to wash away all of her aggression with its icy wetness. She wrapped her arms around her body and bent her head, soft, warm tears falling upon her knees. Danny stood over her, the water pounding against him, cooling his own feverish emotions and desires.

Finally, he turned around and shut the water off. Leaning over, he sat upon the closed toilet seat. "Michelle," he said her name softly, so softly and she gazed up at him.

"When I went to your brother's house that night and you brandished a knife at him, you said that you couldn't live like this, well, it's my turn. I can't live like this anymore, either. I need to know what you feel for me."

She shook her head back and forth, not in denial, but in confusion and that confusion was matched and joined by the frustration in his voice when he cried out with passion, "God, Michelle, I need to know. Do you love me? Do you hate me? Want me? Do I disgust you? What?!"

"You want honesty from me, Danny?" she asked softly.

"Yes," he answered on an exhalation of breath.

"I want some honesty as well."

He looked at her consideringly and then nodded, "fine."

"How do you feel about me?" Her gaze was locked on his and she pleaded with her eyes in a way the emotionless distance in her voice could not convey. She pleaded for the truth, but also for his love. He was quiet for a few moments and then he told her ... the truth. "I want you." Her gaze was unblinking.

"And I love you. I love you so much, it scares me. And I don't want it. I don't want to, Michelle. I don't want to love you, but God help me, I do."

Tears waited at the corners of her eyes and when she blinked, two streaks came sliding down her face. She closed her eyes and nodded softly, one time and without volume, she mouthed the words 'thank you,' whether to Danny or God, she didn't know.

"Michelle?" She looked back up at him. "How do you feel about me?" She steeled herself for his reaction, but knew that she could not, would not lie. He wanted honesty, he would get honesty.

"I don't know."

He leaned back and his face stiffened and she could feel the unleashed, coiled violence and anger in him, but for the first time since she'd met him, she felt completely secure in the knowledge that he would not hurt her ... not intentionally anyway. He loved her. He loved her so much.

But still he got up and walked out of the bathroom, his head bent. She was on her feet, immediately, "Danny, God Damn you to Hell, don't you walk away FROM ME!" She kept rushing out after him and he turned to face her, finally looked up from the floor and his face was marked with rage and hurt.

"You don't know," is what he said, fine steel in his voice

"What the hell is going on here?!" Jesse's voice angrily interrupted them. Danny swung around, facing 'the love of Michelle's life' and fought to control the urge to smash his face in.

Michelle's eyes widened, "Jesse," she whispered and reached for Drew's robe thrown carelessly on the sofa. As she hurried to cover herself, Danny looked back at her and remarked acidly, "why bother, Michelle? He's already seen you naked. I'm the one in the dark."

She looked at Danny and felt the reality of Jesse and anything else outside of this man, her husband, fade away. "Danny, I'm not gonna let you just walk away."

He smiled without humor and walked over to get his pants, pulling them on hurriedly, he replied snidely, "too bad. I'm walkin'."

"Yeah, Danny, that's what you're good at!" she cried.

"We had this conversation, Michelle and I don't care to discuss it."

"That's the point! We didn't discuss it. You --" she broke off when Jesse quietly said her name.

"-- Michelle?"

She turned to him impatiently, "what, Jesse?"

"I don't want to do this anymore." His voice was still soft and he spoke as if he could not believe what he was saying ... what he was feeling. "Make up your mind, Michelle, either him or me? I don't want to do this anymore," he repeated.

Danny, finished doing his pants up, stood still at Jesse's words, his shirt hanging loosely from his hand.

Michelle looked at Jesse and then to Danny and Danny's face held a look of regret and sorrow, already guessing her answer. And she thought of her life without Jesse, a life she had not only gotten used to, but one that she had, despite all reason, begun to cherish simply because of Danny's presence it, and she knew that she could live -- happily even -- without Jesse in her life again.

And then she thought of a life without Danny. Daniel Santos. Dark hair, dark eyes. Devastating charm, both light and dark. Violent temper. Tender passion. Sweetness. Lies. Understanding. Betrayal. Protection. Carmen. His kisses. Deitz. His touch. Men with guns. His wedding vows. Her husband. Daniel Santos. Danny.

And the decision was made.

"Goodbye, Jesse. I need to talk to Danny alone," she spoke softly and with great tenderness for he was her first love.

But he misunderstood, "do you want me to come back later?" He thought that she wanted time alone to end it with Danny. He thought that it was he who she had chosen and she looked at Danny and his face was closed-off, no emotion and she knew that he had misunderstood as well. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath and then she looked at Jesse again.

"No, not for me." She paused, waiting for the meaning of her words to sink in and then she repeated, "goodbye, Jesse," and he understood now. She did not look at Danny. Jesse opened his mouth to say something, but she shook her head, a single tear falling down her cheek and he remained silent.

He walked to the door, opened it and closed it and he was gone from her life. And then she looked at Danny.

There was disbelief. There was a question. And beneath it all was a simmering quiet joy.

"Why?" he whispered softly and she found herself replying without thought, without hesitation, for she had made her choice, "I love you," and she knew that it was the right one.