The very first time I laid eyes on her, the very first time she actually looked back.

Nerd and popular.

I remember the first touch.

The very first feel of skin that didn't belong to me, the very first feel of someone not me touching me.

Inexperienced and experienced.

I remember the first kiss.

The very first date of our lips, the very first dance of our tongues.

I was fifteen. She was seventeen.

I remember the first goodbye.

The very first feeling of needing something so bad, the very first feeling of fear of that it wouldn't come back.

Nervous, but smiling. Smiling, and confident.

I remember the first "I Love You."

The very first time I heard those magic words, the very first time she actually believed the meaning of the words she said.

Ecstatic, on cloud nine. Amazed and heading up the same cloud as me.

I remember the first sharing of a bed.

The very first time I slept in a bed with a girl, the very first time I woke up to a beautiful smiling face.

Warn and content. Happy and snuggly.

I remember the first deceit.

The very first feeling of anguish, hatred and anger. The very first feeling of betrayal and hurt.

Me, alone. Her, not.

I remember the first "Talk."

The very first time of feeling my heart shatter, the very first time I cried tears of heartache.

Me, single. Her, not.

I remember the second "Talk."

The very first time having a Royal Flush, the very first time of folding on it.

Me, caving in. Her, back with me.

I remember the first Time.

The very first feeling of being inside her, her eyes telling me it's okay. The very first feeling of every nerve in my body bursting into flames and her arms holding me as I shuddered on top of her.

Seventeen, ex-virgin. Nineteen, high school graduate.

I remember the first scare.

The very first watching the seconds pass like hours for an answer to one's prayer, the very first time the Lord actually answered.

Me, not becoming a father. Her, not becoming a mother.

I remember the first apartment.

The very first time paying rent, picking out furniture and china. The very first sitting on MY own balcony, with my arm around my girl.

Nineteen, High school graduate. Twenty-one, college student.

I remember the first answer.

The very first "OH MY GOD!", the very first "YES!"

Relieved and happy, giving ring. Bouncing and squealing, accepting ring.

I remember the second answer.

The second "I'm sorry," the second "I can't marry you."

Hurt and alone. Confused and alone.

I remember the first year alone.

The very first time of waking up in a bed not ours, the very first time waking up to someone not her.

Soon twenty-one, lonely. Soon twenty-three, lonely too?

I remember the second-- no third heartbreak.

The third blow to the gut, seeing her look so fucking beautiful. The fatal blow, seeing her holding a hand not mine.

Blank and empty. Colorful and happy.

I remember the three knocks on the door.

The first knock, leaving me breathless. The second knock, holding her tear-soaked face against my chest. The third knock, bringing my blood to boil.

Me, knight in shining armor. Her, fair maiden in need of rescue.

I remember the third "Talk".

The third time my feelings and common sense collided. The third time I'd heard her beg. The third time I so elegantly caved in.

Me, nervous and suspicious, but elated. Her, insecure and crying, but happy.

I remember... Oh God, do I remember.

"I do."

Me, twenty two, husband. Her, twenty-four, wife.

I remember the last time I saw her.

Five minutes ago, sleeping on our couch with the Munchkin.

Chris Varick, twenty-six, father. Denise Varick, twenty-eight, mother.

Christina Marie Varick, three and a half, big sister in two months.

The End.