He took the envelope with a shaky hand, watching carefully the joy that painted her face.

"Are you happy with him?"

It was a simple question, easily seen as rude, but she knew the concern behind it.

"I am."

"I'm glad." He wasn't. In that moment his heart broke, but he couldn't bring himself to do the same to hers.

They both got what they wanted. He was an artist - the letter came in that morning: a large gallery wanted to showcase his work - and she was truly, unconditionally happy.

Without him