She clutched one of her pillows tight to her breast as though it was her husband  who had been missing for more than seven days.

He would call, she told herself, the cordless phone just to her left side on the nightstand. But until now, he had not.

One morning a week ago, after she had made Glenn breakfast, had handed him his brief case, and kissed him on the lips, he walked out the front door to take a business flight to Detroit, and did not return.

“He’ll be back,” Tori’s girlfriend told her, after he had been gone two days. She held Tori’s head in her lap, smoothed her hand over Tori’s sandy brown hair, trying to comfort her. “Maybe his plane got re-routed, and he lost his cell phone. He’ll be back, girl.”

But as Tori lay there, wetting Sarah’s skirt with the tears that fell from her eyes, she didn’t believe the words her friends said to her.

The next day, Tori went to the police to file a missing persons report.

“The moment we hear anything, we’ll call you…Mrs. Billups,” a square jawed, graying detective Reynolds said, having to glance down at the paper work to remember Tori’s married name.

She returned home, sat in a kitchen chair for hours, staring at the phone, crying.

“Why are you doing this to me!” She screamed, grabbing the glass pepper shaker from the table, slinging it across the room, where it shattered against the far kitchen wall.

Back then, Tori had only been in the small California city of Torrence for two months. She had fled Chicago with more money than she thought she’d ever see in her life, and she wanted to make a new beginning for herself.

She bought a house, and settled in.

The first month had been bearable. She allowed her thoughts to be consumed with what color to paint walls, the style of living room furniture, and whether the blinds she hung should be vertical or horizontal.

The following month, loneliness had found her. Most often times it was at night, while she lay in bed alone, after spending the entire day by herself.

She wanted love again, but was afraid.

One night she suffered from a terrible migraine. She walked into the bathroom in her slippers and robe to take some medication. Standing in front of the open medicine cabinet, she eyed the prescription bottle of Tylenol 4. She pulled out the bottle of sleeping pills instead, thinking, maybe if she just slept.

Tori shook one into her palm, then two. She paused, looking up into the mirror, thinking about her lonely nights. They were becoming insufferable. If she wanted, she would never have to deal with them again.

Tori tilted the bottle, letting the remainder of the pills fall into her hand.

She grabbed the glass of water from the edge of the sink. It would take just two quick motions—pills. Water. Down her throat they’d go, she’d fall off to sleep, and she’d never be lonely again.

That night, Tori stopped herself, and was glad she did. For if she hadn’t, she wouldn’t have met Glenn.

She met him in the cookie isle at the grocery store.

“Which are better? Chips Ahoy, or Oreos?” He said, holding a bag of each.