Damian Spencer

“Too little, too late.”

Four simple words that will haunt me for the rest of my life. Those were the last words that he said to me before he stormed out. For all I know, they were the last words that he ever spoke to anyone.

I thought it would be like any other time that we’d fought. He’d go and blow off some steam, come back when he was ready, and things would get worked out.

Only, he never got the chance to come home. He was driving too fast, the road was too slick.

“You always come back.”

Those were my last words to him. I thought he would, he always did. I could have told him not to go, or even begged him to stay. I didn’t. Remorse and regret have layered, solidified since then.

I had everything a man could want. Everything.

Head chef at the restaurant to be seen at. Granted, I was married to my job, but I loved it. Loved every aspect of it. I may not have been the owner, but that kitchen was mine.

A man that only complained a little about me being married to my job. Until that last blow-up. I didn’t know how much he really resented me being gone all of those hours, and missing so much..

And the stupid thing? I’d have given it up for him. But he never asked until then. And fate never gave me the chance to prove it.

Everything fell apart after the cops showed up at the door later on that night with his things. His wallet that I was always after him to replace. The ring from his finger. I still have its mate on mine as a reminder.

Don’t take the things in your life for granted. You never know when they will get snatched away.

I couldn’t keep up with the demands of the restaurant anymore, I didn’t have the heart for it like I once did. I still cook, I haven’t lost my love for that, but it’s different now. For the pleasure, for myself, and not as part of an ambitious drive.

And I left San Francisco, to come to the City. Sold the house. Even in this market, it went quickly. Sold most of my things, gave his to organizations that could use them, and his family. They say they don’t blame me. He was always impulsive, spontaneous, quick-tempered.

It doesn’t matter.

I do.




OOC: Player is open to spontaneous play if in a public room, strongly dislikes drama that isn’t part of the play, and will not cross IC and OOC, so please do not ask.