It's been three days. He is scared. Would she come finally? He takes the letter and hides it close, under the small cushion she had embroidered; he's filled with treason, stained with her guiltiness. Already midnight; she’s coming soon but he couldn't tell. He keeps waiting. 1 a.m., 2 a.m., 3 a.m., and his eyelids feels just too heavy all of a sudden. 3 a.m. is the hour, three days after is the time. She's here but he's asleep, so he won't tell in the morning that she was actually back. She glides over the carpet and stops by him. She knows he has hidden it and where; she knows what's in the letter. He was going to leave her. She reads it anyway because some curiosities never die. He wants forgiveness for he's a killer; that part she had forgotten. Now it’s up to her. Would she forgive him and cross over, or would she haunt him forever?