Morning was always her favorite time. The new day dawned with possibility, filled with hope and maybes. Maybe she would wake up and he would love her. Maybe he would wake up and see past the rough exterior she wore to protect herself.
But at the end of the day, maybes had disappeared, fading into nothing. Hopes dashed as he still didn't love her. Evenings were bitter, filled with images of things she could have done better, words she could have said instead. Helga hated evenings.