The porch is cold. Rory shivers, but doesn't get up. It's been one of those evenings. One where you almost can't believe the things that happened because they are so completely far fetched. Here she sits, head in her hands, unable to go inside and face herself. The things she has said and done seem miles away as she plays the alphabet game she and her mother concocted to get out of doing chores. Enjoying her momentary denial, she restricts her words to anything non-Dean related. The letter 'r' stumps her, though, until she realizes. 'R' is for regret.