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          Soleil lay in bed that night, staring at the spot where Orlando would be if he were still with her. She reached her hand out, as if expecting him to materialize beside her, where he should be. 

          Her pillow was wet with the tears she cried every night now, realizing all over again each time she lay down that he would never be beside her again, in her bed or anywhere else. Sometimes, she wept softly for a few moments before suddenly drifting off to sleep, as if her mind couldn’t take any more, and so shut itself down in self-defense. Other times, she cried herself hoarse before she could even think about sleep, and then it came agonizingly slowly, if at all. Tonight was one of the latter.

          She was missing more than one man at the moment.

          It felt wrong, but she couldn’t banish the feeling. She had seen him only an hour ago, and she shouldn’t be feeling the things she was feeling, needing him so much. She was worried that it was artificial, that she was trying to fill a hole, and that wasn’t fair to either of them—to any of them. 

          Whatever the reason, she felt it; and it terrified her.

After the Wreckage