�No, I am not answering that door,� Diane promised her coffee cup, even though the door was the only inanimate object that was actually trying to communicate with her. She relented when the pounding became so insistent that she worried her neighbors might be disturbed. She opened the door without looking through the peephole.

Harry stood there, every bit of clothing wrinkled, every hair out of place, looking hung over and dirty.

�I�m sorry, Diane.�

�Me too. For everything. Now you�ve said it. Go home and get yourself cleaned up.�

�Wait, let me come in and talk about it.�

�No, Harry. No. You don�t understand. I can�t be with you when you�re drinking. I�m not strong enough for that. You have to make a choice. Me, or the whiskey.�

�I choose you.�

�That�s great. But for how long?�

�What do you mean?�

�I mean, the next time I get shot at, or go to a party without you, are you going to get drunk?�

�No.�

�How can you say that and be a hundred percent sure? I can�t even be a hundred percent sure. And I have friends, a support system to hold me up when I get close to drinking. What do you have? What is your insurance policy? Or do you still think you�re bulletproof?�

�No.�

�I can�t do this, Harry. I can�t ride this roller coaster. I�m not strong enough for both of us.�

�What if I promise��

�No promises. Promises are empty. They will only make you a liar. And you know it.�

Harry was silent, looking lost. Uncharacteristically speechless. He turned and walked away down the hallway. Diane closed the door and leaned on it for support as her tears flooded the room, drowning her in regret.