Perhaps, in different time, different place, it would have thrived. But back then, back there, our relationship was ill. Fights had raged every night -the window he broke had yet to be replaced- and our sleeping places were separate. I had feared for my sanity, back in that hellhole, with bottles smashing and his voice screaming at me. At the time, I had been accustomed to the noise. The quiet had been unsettling.
But now, I was safely in the arms of my lover with soft kisses being pressed to my forehead and a gentle hand running up and down my arm. The hand ran down to intertwine its fingers with mine, the engagement rings clinking softly together. It was quiet, peaceful, as we cuddled on the armchair, slowly falling into a calm state together.
Perhaps, I hoped, we would be married someday, our little children running around with the dog joining in or cat watching them attentively. We would travel around the world, visiting old friends and seeing new sights. We would grow old together, watch younger couples and spoil the grandkids before sending them back to their parents. It would be nice, with my lover by my side.
We were so at peace, we didn't hear the click of a gun's action in the next room or the footsteps coming in.
A loud bang and then silence.