“You’re beautiful.”

“No, I’m not. At my best, I’m moderately good-looking,” she said with a smile.

He leaned over and kissed her.

“You’re beautiful,” he repeated.

“Fine, I’m beautiful, but I didn’t say you could kiss me.”

“You don’t have to. We’re married now, which means I can kiss you anytime I want,” he said.

“Where does it say that?” she asked.

“It’s in the contract. Didn’t you read the contract?”

She shoved him playfully. “Read the contract? I wrote that thing, and it said nothing about you kissing me.”

“I made some revisions when you weren’t looking,” he said.

“Well, if you can kiss me, then I can kiss you,” she said as she leaned in…

He woke up.

He looked around at his empty bed and his dirty bedroom. He scratched the scruffy beard that had been present since that day.

He sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the urn on top of the dresser. He stared at that urn until the dawn came. And when the sunbeams hit his eyes, he wept.

He looked at her picture.

“You’re beautiful.”