Regret.

It's the word that plays itself over and over again in his mind. He presses the word from his lips to drown out the deafening silence in the hotel room that he's taken abode in. He's listened to his Foote collection, he's played his trumpet, he's even tried indulging in mind-numbing television.

But his room remained menacingly silent.

Cristina was never noisy. She was never too loud. It was the little things that made the silence his is temporary home more profound. It was the lack of the sound that her fingernails made as she picked at one of his selfmade labels as she flipped through a medical journal. It was the absence of the low drone of her iPod in the morning as they were getting dressed for work. It was the disappearance of the sound of a coffee maker percolating in the morning and throughout the day.

In the moments that he wasn't overwhelmed by silence he could hear her sobs. He could hear her gasp for air. These moments usually hit as he was lying in the dark desperately willing sleep to take over. When he closed his eyes, all he could see was the image of her clawing at her wedding dress, tears marring her makeup. All he could see was her alone in their apartment, swallowed up by emotions that would take her months to sort out.

At times, he selflessly hoped that she would hate him. He hoped that she would gather her things and leave the apartment and their memories behind in disugst. He wanted her to pass off their relationship as a temporary lapse in judgement or a mistake to never be made again.

Most of the time, he is selfish. His regrets don't include buying her coffee, sleeping with her, getting her pregnant or falling in love with her. As a matter of fact, he only had one regret when it comes to Cristina Yang.

His regret was letting her go.

His regret was not letting her walk down the aisle despite the fact that he thought he knew what was best for her. His regret was not softly uttering his vows to her. His regret was not clasping her hands tightly while she stammered through expressions of affection she no doubt borrowed from another source.

Sometimes he would fantasize about how they will come back together. He would allow himself to be deluded with the idea that she'll actually give him another chance. He would even let himself take stock in the fact that she will be happy someday and that it will be with him.

But then he would reach over to her side of the bed and it would be cold. He would fold the laundry and take pause when it hit him that once again hers was missing. He would shower quickly to save the hot water for a woman who was no longer there. He would pour a second cup of coffee and realize for the eighth time since he's woke up that morning that she's gone.

And it's always at those times that he had to pause. It's at that point that he realizes that she won't be coming back. It is in those moments of better and cruel lucidity that he regrets setting her free.

Preston Burke was no longer a man of pride. He was no longer a world renowned surgeon. He was no longer a heart man.

No.

Now Preston Burke was a shadow of a man. A vessel of self-loathing, selfishness and regret.