6.3

Meredith shoved her laptop off the bed, and it fell with a solid clunk onto the hardwood floor. She didn't care. She was fed up with watching the goings-on. Facebook seemed to always (always) show his face, and she didn't like seeing it. Well, that's not strictly true. She loved seeing it, but she hated knowing what it was up to. She always saw his face with that girl (skinny, pretty, smiling, happy) and couldn't believe her bad luck. That could have been her. Really, it could have been. There was a brief window in which she could have--
But women are passive. They sit back and shouldn't act, and the ones that do are too forward/aggressive. So she rolled over and said good morning to her husband, eschewed her slippers and walked down the stairs to fix breakfast for her three kids.

What she forgot to mention is that the face--the face on the Internet that intrigued her--was a man who  couldn't seem to keep his act together. He threw himself at pretty women (sure, he got a few now and again) and lived life like the world was ending. He had no career, savings, or future. He had only his face, and that was going, too.

In fifteen years more, he wouldn't have anything but the memories of a past full of terribly awful mistakes.

In fifteen years more, she would have successful children and a home to return to and a future with a husband who forgot entirely the man on the Internet whose only asset was his face.