Tyrone's eyes followed Sabrina's and he asked, "Shall we head home now?"

Sabrina studied the intensifying snowfall. Under these conditions, highway driving wasn't safe.

"Let's stay here tonight. We can head back when the snow ceases tomorrow."

"Alright."

Tyrone began to remove his overcoat, intending to drape it over Sabrina. As she started to decline, he interjected, "You've just had a miscarriage; it's important you don't get cold."

"I appreciate that."

"No need for thanks..." Tyrone meant to add, "You're my wife." But he couldn't bring himself to voice it.

Despite their three-year marriage, he had plenty of chances to call her his wife. But he had never done it.

And now, he wasn't qualified to say so.

In a desperate hope, Tyrone wished the snowfall would continue indefinitely, so they could remain here, far from their tainted past.

And they could stay away from the imminent divorce.

But this was mere wishful thinking.

The snow ceased overnight.

Come the next day, they started their journey home.

Once they exited the highway, Sabrina proposed, "We should collect our IDs before heading to the courthouse."

Checking her wristwatch, she added, "We still have an hour. That should be sufficient."

Tyrone, already aware of her desire for divorce, still felt a punch to his gut. His chest tightened.

His mood mirrored the frigid weather outside, as icy as the fallen snow.

His grip on the steering wheel was so fierce that his knuckles turned ghostly white. In a rough voice, he managed to say, "Alright."

They went back to the villa, fetched their IDs, and got back in the car.