CLAIRE FISHER'S APARTMENT
Claire
runs her fingers over the
glass window of the picture frame. She traces the line of her wedding dress
slowly, and just touching the picture brings the day back to her so vividly.
She'd hardly been able to hold herself
together that day. She was stunned that she and
Tim were committing to
each other the way they were ... amazed that she was becoming part of such
a loving family ... and terrified that the whole thing would fall to pieces.
And it did, she thinks now
as she caresses Tim's face through the frame. He was so soothing that day,
so reassuring, making her believe that they belonged together and that
was all that mattered. She hadn't been able to tell him even half of her
fears -- that she wouldn't be good enough, that she wouldn't be able to
be the woman a man like Tim needed.
A man like Tim. She swallows
hard. He was perfect ... He was everything I needed. And it still wasn't
enough to keep this from happening ...
A sharp rap on the door rattles her.
She grips the photograph tightly, keeping it from flying out of her hand.
Then she places it back on the side-table and stands from the couch, breathing
deeply to calm herself as she waits for the rush of adrenaline to subside.
She stands before the door and takes
one last moment to compose herself. She smoothes her clothing and takes
another breath. Instinctively she sniffles, and she reaches a finger up
to wipe the beginnings of a tear from her eye.
Another knock sounds as she steals
a final glance in the mirror hanging beside the door.
She reaches out, takes hold of the
knob, and opens the door. And she feels the color drain from her face.
"Hi," he says awkwardly.
Claire doesn't make a move.
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