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[3rd person pov, donna focus]

She thought that she would miss him more than this, thought that his death would make her regret what could have been. She thought that she would become a mere shadow of herself, that she would retreat inside, feel despair so great that the tears would be endless and would be unable to talk about it.

She knows that she once believed that she couldn't live without him. The days when she believed that her mere existence depended on his being there for her. She thinks that this self would have been deprived of life for a while, would not be able to cope, would sit in shock at the news, eyes wide, mouth unable to move, unable to comprehend the thoughts running endlessly inside her head. She thought that the shock of it all, the suddenness would cause her so much pain that she would wonder about the necessity of going on.

She knows, however, that this was when she thought she knew herself, thought that she knew all about love.

She knows that he taught her things that she will never forget, knows that she was devoted to him unconditionally because she thought that loyalty was what love was. She thought that he had made her stronger by just being himself, that his occasional cruel words that hurt her to the core were spoken because he couldn't share his feelings, that this was his way of showing love.

She once wondered what love was. Whether it was worthwhile. Whether it should be right that hormones and chemical responses could really dictate a part of her life. She sometimes questioned its mere existence, wondered if everyone else was experiencing it, surely she should too. She wondered if love was just over-stated, and that the feelings she had were love.

If they were, surely she should feel his loss more than this? She thinks that surely she should be questioning God's cruel nature instead of feeling as though she has lost a once treasured, but time-forgotten, acquaintance. Should she not be feeling as though a central part of her life has gone with him?

She admits that she's not sure that she ever was truly in love with him.

She regrets that. Regrets that she fooled herself, that she lied to him; that she lied to herself.

That she gave up her life for him.

She wonders if he ever loved her. She figures that she'll never know, and whilst it saddens, it doesn't affect her as much as she thinks it should.

She is upset in a way that she cannot comprehend that she'll never know what he could have made of himself, whether he could ever have found someone to truly love. That she'll never know whether he'll find out if he cheated himself with their version of love. She's upset that no one will ever find out now.

She thinks that she has found out what love is now, what life is about, what she should do, who she should become. She knows that she will be indebted to him forever that in letting her go he allowed her to find this out.

She knows that she wouldn't be the person she is now without him.

She doesn't know that she will miss him, though. She thinks that some days she'll think about him and how tragic it was that he was taken before his time.

The shock of it upsets her now, makes her burst into tears, and makes the back of her throat ache painfully. But she knows that it will soon pass.

She's not sure whether this makes it all more regretful or whether he would have wanted it this way. She wonders if he thought about her in the final few years since she left him.

She knows that their lives were apart, had gone in different directions. She has discovered real love, not the half-truth they had shared.

And as she puts the phone down and starts to cry, the man in her life now takes her into his arms, comforts her, soothes her the best he knows how. She knows that she'll forget soon.

For she knows that here and now is what is important. It is who she is and not who she was that matters. And although she cries for the girl she used to be, the woman she has become will deal with it soon.

She knows that there will always be regrets, but mostly that they didn't start living their lives sooner.

Later they go outside into the warm summer evening and open a bottle of wine. They toast to his memory.

Rest in peace, Dr Freeride.

THE END

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