We drive in silence, the atmosphere between us charged with emotions that neither of us dare liberate. From time to time I catch a glimpse of his face in the oncoming headlights. Apprehensive, tired, relieved, but unburdened.
That nebulous figure who has undulated for months on the fringe of my consciousness, and sometimes even my dreams, now has a name, a history, an identity. And probably a future.
He stops the car in our driveway and rubs his hands wearily across his eyes.
“I’m shattered,” he says.
And so am I.