Late that night, he lay curled on his couch, too overwhelmed to mourn or rage or even drink himself into oblivion. His day had been long, starting with that phone call just after midnight. Now his body hurt, his heart burned and his head throbbed, but his mind was as clear as it had never been before.

The call had woken him when he'd just fallen asleep, and afterwards sleep had been an impossibility. He was grateful for the courtesy, nonetheless, because he only had until morning to prepare himself for the onslaught he knew was coming.

News of the engagement was simply everywhere and he was swamped with calls, emails, texts, and people. It felt as if everyone alive wanted a piece of him and it took all his hard-won experience to fashion a mask not even the most insistent of questioners could break. Just as it took all his skill and concentration to appear happy about the upcoming wedding.

Getting through the day took everything he had, but it was the least he could do. He'd brought the heartache on himself, and it was his duty to make sure it didn't ruin any other lives but his.

Curled on his couch, finally giving in to tears, he cursed his arrogance. He'd been taught to only value what he had to fight to obtain. So when he was given a heart he'd spurned the offer, too stupid to know that freely given did not mean without value.

He tried to fight as he'd been taught, always pushing, always resisting, confused when all his attempts produced nothing but shock and hurt, sadness and - finally - resignation.

Too caught up in the fight, he didn't realise that he was fighting for something that was his already.

Until it no longer was.