Tim awakes. It is night. He should be asleep, but he does not care. His love lays beside him on the bed. An empty black box lays on the nightstand. All is right in the world.

Almost. Tim’s bladder could be considerably less full. Considering a kiss, Tim leans but stays his lips. He would not rob his love of a moment’s pleasant dreaming. And thus he slips silently, lovingly across his small apartment towards the bathroom and urinary relief.

A third of the way to his porcelain destination, he pauses. There is a glow from betwixt the battered couch cushions that is not normally there. With quiet, curious hands Tim retrieves Jillian’s cell, smiling to himself that it must have slipped there from her pocket during their celebratory revelry.

A glowing screen indicates not only that she has left her phone on, but a text message has come in. Tim, neither suspicious nor nosy, has no intention of reading it.

But as he flips open the phone, only to turn it off you see, he reads, “Have you told him yet?”