The wife pulled it out, and read off the two names, and the date.

Over five years ago, now.

She's been sorting through storage bins of the boys' stuff. Weeding out a few things (I spent part of the afternoon extracting corroded batteries from a forgotten mini-maglite) and organizing the rest of their hastily thrown heirlooms into more consolidated masses.

And she found this souvenir one of the sons had been saving. From a hot summer's wedding.

This holiday season, in the bitter cold of winter, we got confirmation. That marriage will not last.

Damn.

And we just felt like we wanted to cry. Again.