Wet Clothes

His eyes adjusted to the light that poured in as he opened the door to the terrace. The cool wind pulled his hair back. He could see the back of her wedding dress. She stood on the edge of the roof, ready to jump.

It was raining.

He ran to her and caught hold of her hand. She turned to slap him with her other hand, but he held that one too. He pulled her from the ledge and held her in his arms. She cried into his shoulder. His clothes were more wet from her tears than from the rain.

He should have listened.

“I’d rather die than marry you,” she’d said.