The Labrador Retriever raised his head as the doorbell rang. Pulling the door open, she was shocked at the man standing there.

"Can we talk?" he asked.

"No." 

He jammed his foot in as she tried to close it. 

Ripping it open, she glared at him.

"You're annoyed with me; I get it. I'm sorry. I should have done something. I'm just here to make amends." He held a fat envelope out and waited. Stuffing the envelope back in his pocket, "If you change your mind, I'm at the hotel." He said, leaving.

She slammed the door, her anger turning to rage. A million thoughts crossed her mind, but one rose louder. Stella! She stalked to the closet, yanking a box out and dumping the contents on the bed. Stella lay on top of the debris of another life. She wrapped her fingers around the grip, the weight comforting, calming. Slamming a magazine in, she racked the slide. The dog headed to the door.

Ten minutes later, the pair walked into a small bar in the hotel lobby.

"Excuse me, ma'am; dogs are not allowed," a waitress said.

"Emotional Support," Her icy scowl stopped further discussion. The bar's lone patron sitting in a booth waved for her to join him.

"I knew you would come." He watched as she lickedher lips; a memory hit him like a wave. "Please sit; no need to be tense. I just want to talk, clear the air, be friends," he pleaded with her. 

She slid into the booth, never taking her eyes from his.

He pushed a glass of wine towards her, placing the envelope beside it. "I should have come back. I never got the chance. Until recently, I thought you were..."

She cut him off. "Dead?" The word fell like a rock. "Here I am with the person that left me for...," she paused, changing her mind in mid-sentence. "Dead would have been better," she said, sipping the wine.

"We should forget the past, move on," he said, attempting to calm the situation.

"Not everyone would agree. Stella, for one," She licked her lips again. 

The mention of the name froze him to the bone.

"Some things should never be forgotten." She licked her lips. 

Anxiety and apprehension replace his confidence, and she smiled as his breathingbecame short;  tiny drops of perspiration formed on his brow. He tried to slip out of the booth. A paw landed heavily on his foot, and a low growl suggested he remain seated.

"Wait," he pleaded as Stella silently joined their conversation.

"And never forgiven," she said, squeezing the trigger. His head slammed into the back of the booth, a tiny hole in a circle of residue, where Stella had left a last kiss. She noticed the splatteringon the wall, reminiscent of Pollock's "Red Composition."

Placing the envelope in her pocket, she finished the wine and looked down at the dog, "His amends did make me feel better."