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JUNIOR FINDS HIMSELF sitting with his back against the front door. He isn't sure how long it has been since he watched Mackenzie get into his car and drive off. The sound of the engine revving plagues his thoughts, along with the image of his cherry-red convertible skidding out of the driveway.

From where he is, he has an unobstructed view of the living room where they had fought earlier that day. Just looking at the flipped ottoman and broken glass makes him relive everything over and over again. He can practically see Mackenzie throw an empty vase at him and he can feel the shards of glass hit his leg once more. He sees her walk out the door and hears the slam of the patio door too. In his mind's eye, he watches himself trip over the potted plant as he stumbles to the door, and falls into the dirt. The same dirt he had laid in and stared as his fiancée left, the sun shining in his eyes.

He wasn't sure exactly how long ago that was, but since then, heavy winds have slammed the door shut and rain has come and gone. That didn't mean much though, considering the tropical weather of southern Florida. It could have been five minutes or five hours.

Darkness gradually falls and, still, he sits there.

Replaying their fight over and over and over, again.

He sits in the dirt-covered foyer long enough to memorize every word exchanged between them. He picks at the words he said, the words she said. He thinks about what he would change and how he could've handled everything so much better if he wasn't so hot under the collar.

Then, he calls her.

"Mac, come back. Please."