Too Late (short story)

He felt an explosion painted of the same color as angry suddenly blurred his vision. A thousand times he had humiliated her, telling her that she was too little of a woman for a man of his level to be faithful to her. He imagined that the love of a girl like her was something disposable, a worthless trinket.

And yet there she was, smiling as she rarely had before. A faint light escaped from her gaze, almost as beautiful as that of the stars that freely dance among the most remote corners of the galaxy. She was alive.

He felt an explosion of rage blinding every part of him. But he had no choice but to swallow his own words. It was too late to try to recover what he was unable to love.