 He put a sleeping daughter in her stroller and they went out in the summer rain to the breezeway for privacy's sake. There in the rain he told me secrets that shook me to my very core, that broke my heart, that broke me. I listened to him crying out through the phone, I listened to the sound of the falling rain around him and I ached to be there. I ached to be home, to hold him, to tell him that everything was going to be okay. But I couldn't, I couldn't suddenly be in Indianapolis and I couldn't promise restoration. And later, after saying I love you, didn't feel like enough. Later after we had said our goodbyes, later as my own tears mixed with the falling water from my shower head, I cried out to God and my soul refused to be comforted.