Glen had meant the world to Maggie.

Maggie had known from the very first moment that Glen was the man for her. The prince charming with the blonde messy hair and those disarming dimples; it was him. The first dinner date, the bouquets that followed, the picnics, those simple days together gardening, swimming, walking, those nights huddled up together in arms, and entwined legs, it was love. The world existed only for them, the stars shone only for them.

Stan had initially been skeptical about the affair, which had been evident. Maggie had been angry, more so because since his views dominated Glen's decisions usually. Later the double dates had been fun, past soon forgotten. Bertha had become a chum. "Glen will be my best man," she had declared. Bertha- an unwed widow. She was spending awful long times sitting by Stan's grave, fresh flowers in hand everyday.

Bertha hadn't cried much; Maggie recollected she was the one who consoled Stan's sister who had fainted for the nth time.

"Do you want a coffee?" she had asked later when Maggie met her. Maggie wanted to scream at her- "Cry bitch! Don't let Stan's ghost fuck up the rest of your life." Maggie had managed just a "No."

Glen hadn't been at the funeral like her. Glen didn't want to, his mom said. She also asked Maggie to comfort Glen. He needed someone. He wouldn't accept that in front of his mom, but he needed a shoulder to cry upon.

Glen had been worse than she had expected. The beads of tears on her lips for a few days after were the sourest and the most fetid drops of any liquid she had ever tasted. She had nursed him well, she believed. Until now. This morning he had been acting strange. Even Stan's mother phoned her about her meeting with Glen.

The world had tumbled and Glen had crashed down. She couldn't let the world tremble again.