Theresa drank her coffee black. It was deep and rich and it burnt Ryan's mouth as it slid down his throat. He would drink cups of it, enjoying the rough taste. It was smooth and warm and every bit of it reminded Ryan of Theresa. Sometimes he would ask her to add cream. He would plead with her, telling her to do it for him. She would add the sweetener, but he would find it heavy on his tongue. He would force it down, but he missed the raw taste of her black coffee. He would wait until she left before pouring the remainder of the pot down the sink. She would laugh at him, saying he should just stop asking, but somehow he always found himself craving something a little sweeter.
Marissa poured spoonfuls of sugar into her coffee. It was sweet and creamy and Ryan could only stand to drink one cup of it. It would swirl in his mouth, creating a syrupy taste. He would force a smile on his face, and fight back the urge to spit it out. Some days he would ask her to leave it black, and after bickering with him she would agree. The deep taste would slide down his throat and create a sense of regret and pain. He suddenly found it easier to swallow the heavy, sweetened version Marissa preferred. He would grimace as he drank it, and she would bite out a sarcastic comment, telling him he should stop asking. He would squabble with her and finally agree, but he found he missed the bitter taste of black coffee.
Lindsay drank tea. She would make cup after cup, each a different flavor. Her favorite was apple cinnamon. He would choke it down at first, eager to make her happy, but always missing the strength of coffee. He would indulge sometimes, taking it black or full of sugar, but she would never join him. No matter how many cups he fixed, she would never drink it. He would tease her, but she never budged. She would happily sip her tea, allowing him to drink his coffee in peace. But she would never push her flavored mixtures on him, instead, waiting patiently as he drank the dark liquid. As time passed, he began drinking tea more, and his addiction to coffee diminished. There were still times when he craved the intensity of black coffee, but that, too, slowly faded.
He had loved Theresa. Not in the same way she loved him, but still so deeply that it scared him sometimes. He knew that even now he would do anything to assist her. He had loved Marissa too. Not as deeply as he loved Theresa, but in a way that affected him just as much. In the beginning, there had been days when he wondered if he made the right decision.
But as he sat watching his wife slowly sip her tea, he knew he made the right choice. A sense of peace and warmth flowed throughout him.
He never drank coffee again.