I was so close to losing Rosie.
 
 A sob seizes my lungs.
 
 I was so close to never having her.
 
 Behind my eyelids, I picture the life I want us to have together.
 
 I picture her happy.
 
 I picture her safe.
 
 I picture the children we’ll have.
 
 And I cry even more for the future we almost lost.
 
 And then I think about Rosie, right now, all alone in my bed.
 
 I shove up to my feet and stumble toward the door.
 
 She’ll never feel alone again.
 
 Not ever.
 
 Not for a moment.
 
 With the letter in hand, I forget about everything else I was going to take with me, and I leave Rosie’s apartment.
 
 She’s not coming back here.
 
 She’s not leaving me.
 
 I won’t let her go.
 
 I won’t let her go.
 
 I repeat those words in my head as I drive back.
 
 As I enter my condo.
 
 As I walk straight to my bedroom.
 
 And when I see her.
 
 When I see my Rosie.
 
 I drop the letter and strip my shirt and sweatpants off.
 
 I need to be close to her.
 
 I need to feel her heat against my skin.
 
 Instead of going to my side of the bed, I climb in behind her, and I wrap her in my arms.
 
 I hold her as close as possible.
 
 I hold her as my tears soak into the pillow.
 
 I hold her even after I fall asleep.