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He reached into the pocket of his coat and felt the cold touch of the glass marble that was the only thing he would take from the life he was leaving behind. She had made it. In boredom one day she created fifty of the beautiful glass spheres and she had shown them to him. He had liked this one best and two months later she had given it to him, the one he picked up, the one he had touched and said he loved so much. For all her cruelty she had remembered that insignificant detail. He wrapped his hand around the marble and felt the cool of the glass slowly warm to the heat from his hand.
He would keep walking.
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