It had been approximately seven months, twelve days, and nine hours since he had last felt the touch of a woman’s hand. Now, as they walked, she brushed her hand hesitantly against his.
Her fingers were small and soft. He sensed the neat curve of the nails and, almost by osmosis, the scent of her womanhood. He touched her palm with his thumb, tightening his hand diffidently around hers. With infinite care he gently caressed it.
As he did so, a thousand furious, howling gargoyles screamed of his failures—as a husband, partner, and a man.
Could he ever love again?