A woman wakes in the middle of the night to find her husband missing from their bed. Concerned, she gets up and heads downstairs.
There he is, standing in the kitchen, waiting for a cup of coffee, staring blankly at the wall. A tear rolls down his cheek as he quietly stares straight ahead.
“Is everything okay, dear?” she asks gently, stepping into the room. “Why are you down here at this hour?”
He looks up, his expression somber. “Do you remember 20 years ago, when we were dating, and you were just 17?” he asks.
She smiles, touched by his sentimentality. “Of course I do,” she replies, standing beside him.
He hesitates, then continues, “Do you remember when your father caught us in the backseat of my car?”
Her smile softens as she nods. “Yes, I remember.”
“And do you remember,” he says, his voice thick with emotion, “when he pointed a shotgun at me and said, ‘Marry my daughter or spend 20 years in jail’?”
“I remember,” she says, her voice tender.
He wipes another tear away and sighs deeply. “I would’ve been free today.”