The house was made of metal and glass. It rose in the middle of the street, surrounded by other structures of metal and glass. It was cold, bleak, indistinguishable from its neighbors.

There had been trees on this street. A long time ago. But they were gone now. Wood had become a precious commodity, as there were very few trees left on the planet.

Some of the houses used to have pools, but those had been removed to make room for more houses.

A few blocks away, there had been a park—though with few trees, even then. Now the grass and greenery had been removed, too. As had the benches and alleys. The ground had been razed, replaced with more houses.

It was not the same place it had once been.

So much had changed.

All that was left now was metal and glass.

The man sat on a bench—a cold, steel bench—and stared at the house.

He had stood and walked toward the door at least five times, before pausing and going back to his seat.

There were tears in his eyes, which he wiped with the back of his hand.

How was he supposed to tell her what he had come to tell her?

He buried his head in his hands.

After a couple of minutes, he took a deep breath and stood again.

It needed to be done.

He couldn’t linger forever.

With resolve, he crossed the street.

As he was about to cave and turn away once more, the door opened.

He froze.

A blonde middle-aged woman stood in the doorframe, looking at him with narrowed eyes.

“Halden,” she breathed. “I thought that was you.”

He gave a slight nod, though he said nothing. He did not trust his own voice right now. The last thing he wanted was to break down in front of her.

The woman crossed her arms.

“Well?” she asked. “I assume you didn’t come all the way here just to stare at the house.”

She must have seen him on the bench, he realized. It was just across the street, after all. He should have guessed she’d see him. What an idiot he was.

He rubbed the back of his head and looked down.

How could he tell her?

He had rehearsed the words a thousand times on the way here. Each one of them had been chosen carefully, thoughtfully, taking into account her character and temperament. They had lived together long enough that he knew what type of reaction certain words would elicit. He had crafted the speech to the littlest detail, and he knew it all by heart.

But now that he was here, in front of her, faced with this incredibly difficult chore, the whole damn thing had evaporated. He couldn’t remember a single word of it.

“She’s gone,” he breathed out.

That was all he could muster. And saying those three words sucked all the energy out of him. It drove reality into his skull like a hammer. He nearly broke apart. It took all the little willpower he had left to keep him together.

He didn’t dare look up. But he wondered how her face looked now. Was she as shocked as he had been when he’d found out? She’d have to be. Lucy had been her daughter too, after all.

“So?” came the cold, heartless answer.

It sent a jolt through his body, and his head shot up. He blinked as he looked into her uncaring eyes.

“I... I don’t think you understand. She’s dead, Marcia.”

The woman who had once been his wife—a lifetime ago, it seemed—shrugged.

“Who was she to me, Halden? You took her away from me ages ago. She was as good as dead. I have my own life now. Go away.”

He knew she didn’t mean any of that. Behind the coldness, he could read the pain in her eyes. She just wanted to hurt him—the same way he’d hurt her, so many years ago. He had been a different man, then. But how could he explain this to her? How could he make her understand?

Probably he deserved her disdain, her contempt. He couldn’t blame her.

But why now?

This had been a mistake. He shouldn’t have come to see her.

“I just wanted you to know,” he mumbled. “Take care.”

Without another word, and not waiting for a response, he turned and walked away.

Away from the house.

Away from the bench.

Away from all the metal and glass.