Spain. April, 1989.

He can almost hear the guard slamming the door. 
The change in air pressure is immediate; his freedom is gone.
His destiny forever transformed by his new surroundings.
He looks around wildly for a way to escape, and finds none.
He turns back to his bride to whispers the words,
"I do."

Counting to Four

She counts the days.

One.
Two.
Three.

but then he blows it and sends her something silly.  He'll spend the rest of the day kicking himself, feeling the fool. Why can’t he stop? Why can’t he leave her alone? But then she responds, and for a few days -

One,
Two,
Three,

she forgets why she worried. Why does it matter? She's happy.  He's happy. Who cares if it’s wrong. But then he plays those games with her ...

One …
Two ...
Three ...

and she remembers why she started counting.  He starts again.

One.
Two.
Three.

Maybe this time they'll count to four.