She kept his sweater. Always methodically folding it into a pillow on her bed. She keeps it close to her; smelling the familiarity. Unable to bring herself to wash the eventful reminders out. He could not be caged by her. So this was the next best thing. A soft cotton reminder of their time spent. A knife in the back. She missed him even though he left like evening rain. Leaving her with just her thoughts in the cloudy night. A final decision. She would sob into the knitting. He'll come back. He'll come back. She convinced herself these words were as true as the sweater in her arms. That he would want the sweater back. Plead for her to love and forgive him. She would have given him a second chance. And finally, he did return; rising from under her kitchen floorboards and wanting much more than the sweater he had left behind.