Hey guys… This is a sad story, but it was just an idea I wanted to get out. I might keep it only as a oneshot, but if I get positive feedback then I might add another chapter or two. Hope y'all enjoy it :]

If he would have known what was going to happen that afternoon, he never would've let her go. He never would've thrown that flower vase in rage, watching it crash into the wall and exploding into a hundred pieces, splattering dirty water and scattering wilting rose petals all over the carpet. He never would've yelled at her to get out when she said she wanted to leave. He never would've screamed in her face about how unhappy he was with her and that he regretted letting her come along with him after Titanic sank. He never would've started yet another fight with her after he stumbled home at seven in the morning, his break reeking of cheap liquor. He never would've stormed out of the house the night before and headed straight for the bar to drink away his stress.

No. He never would have done any of that, if he had known what was going to happen.

Jack sank to the bedroom floor, covering his face with the palms of his hands and bursting into loud, heaving sobs. God, what he'd give for a second chance.

He would've stayed home with her. He would've assured her that he was through with the alcohol, through with picking fights and arguing with her. He would've pulled her close to his chest, ruffling her curly red hair, and told her how much he loved her and how lucky he was to have her in his life. He would've kissed her face and lips a dozen times over, listening to her giggle, the one that made him smile no matter how he was feeling. He would've left and headed straight for the flower shop, bringing her home fresh white roses to replace the dying ones in the vase. He would've swept her up in his arms and took her to bed, showing her how much he loved her that night.

But he didn't. And now he couldn't.

The cold silver band became heavier and heavier on his finger with each passing second, reminding him of the mistakes he had made and the love he had lost. His red-rimmed eyes focused on the big bed in the middle of the room, where he had made love to her so many times before. He knew the pillow on the right side still smelled of her lavender soap, the scent that he loved waking up to every morning. He could still hear the faint pitter-patter of her bare feet on the carpet as she walked around the house, brightening every room with her lively presence.

What had he done?

Sniffling loudly, he rose to his feet and staggered into the living room after hearing three loud raps on the front door. His heart danced in his chest, hoping the caller was her, but his brain told him otherwise.

A fat policeman stood on the porch step and tipped his hat at Jack "Mr. Dawson, I will be needing the description of your wife once again, please, sir."

Jack sucked in his breath and struggled to exhale. His voice came out timid and childish, no matter how many times he cleared his throat. "Her name is Rose Dawson… Rosaline Dawson, to be exact. She has curly red hair… Piercing green eyes… Beautiful lips..."

The policeman coughed as Jack trailed off, his face full of sympathy for the young man. "Mr. Dawson, I'm afraid I have… Bad news."

Jack's heart stopped; his blood turned to ice underneath his skin.

"A woman was found yesterday afternoon with that same description, fit to a tee."

"Found? Found as in hurt, but okay? Or found as in perfect condition?" Jack stared at the police officer with hungry eyes, begging him to reply with an answer to one of those questions.

But somehow he knew in his gut that it wasn't going to be such a happy ending, like he hoped it would.

The plump man averted his gaze to the parched grass in the front lawn of the house, a couple of beads of sweat trickling down his cheek. "No, sir… Found as in dead."

Jack's stomach began to churn, and his hysterical sobbing quickly returned. "She's…dead?"

"Yes, sir." The officer bowed slightly in Jack's direction, sorrow etched on his face. "I'm so very sorry for your loss, Mr. Dawson. So very sorry."

Jack couldn't hear him speaking; the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears was too loud. "How?" he screeched, the word barely articulate through his cries.

"The doctors believe she had been struck by an automobile on the side of a road outside of town. I'm so very sorry," he repeated, struggling not to cry himself. "I cannot imagine your pain right now."

"No! She can't be dead, I have to apologize to her!" He fell to his knees, screaming as loud as his vocal chords would allow him. Curious neighbors began to peek out of their windows and crack open their doors, watching with sad eyes as Jack broke down. "I have to tell her that I love her and that I want to make her happy like I used to and that everything will be okay between us!"

"My apologies, sir…"

"No!" Jack stood up and ran inside, slamming the door behind him, and raced into the bedroom in the back of the house. He threw himself on the bed, burying his nose in Rose's pillow and inhaling her scent as his tears soaked the pillowcase. His weeping possessed his body, depriving his lungs of oxygen because he was crying so hard.

"Rose… I'm so sorry… I love you… Come back…"

But she wouldn't. No matter how many thousands of tears he shed for her, he couldn't change what had happened. He couldn't go back in time and stop himself from screaming at her and making her leave.

He couldn't bring her back.