For a moment, Dexter had a fleeting but, perfectly clear memory of himself at his Mother's funeral, curled up on the bathroom floor while Emma held on to him and stroked his hair.

Yet somehow he had managed to treat this as nothing, to throw it all away for dross.

He followed a little way behind her. "Come on, Em, we're still friends aren't we? I know i've been a little weird, it's just..."
She stopped for a moment, but didn't turn round, and he knew that she was crying.
"Emma?"

Then very quickly she turned, walked up to him and pulled his face to hers, her cheek warm and wet against his, speaking quickly and quietly in his ear, and for one bright moment he thought he was to be forgiven.

"Dexter, I love you so much, So, so much, and I probably always will."
Her lips touched his cheek.
"I just don't like you anymore. I'm sorry."

And then she was gone, and he found himself on the street, standing alone in this back alley, trying to imagine what he would possibly do next.

- One Day by David Nicholls