He waited on the platform, clutching the flowers he knew she loved. Three long weeks she’d been away, but now everything would be ok.

It hadn’t been easy at first. She was still traumatized by the crazy ex. He remembered how she’d held him when she talked about it, clinging to him for protection, like a frightened child.

The gun had been her idea. “You never know,” she’d said, “he could show up anywhere.”

It seemed a bit extreme to him, but he’d gotten it anyway, just to make her feel safer. “Thanks,” she’d said. “Not all men are like you. It’s hard to find a good one.”

The train was coming in now. He was glad he’d remembered the flowers.

“That’s the guy,” the officer said, “he’s got the flowers, like she said.”

It all happened so fast, his arms jerked back, the cold cuffs around his wrists, the flowers falling to the platform, the second officer saying “Check his pockets for the gun.”

Then he saw her, coming off the train. There was a strange man, one arm protectively around her.

“You don’t understand, officer” he protested weakly, knowing it would do no good. “I’m the good one.”

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