At the strike of four in the morning, Victoria was already tired from tossing and turning inside the cozy merino wool blankets. She flung the blankets away and let herself out of bed, as she remembered she had slept on her guard the previous night.
"He was indeed telling me a story!" She ashamedly placed her palms on her face, still seated on the bed, as the memories of him giving her the handkerchief and telling her the story of his mother leaving his father and the act making him question love in totality came flooding back.
"He was indeed telling me a story!" Victoria whispered again, foolishly still crisping her face on her hands.
