Wrecked by the Clubhouse Plans

They told me he was dead. I believed them. One night of grief-drunk comfort in the wrong man's arms, and I destroyed the only thing that ever felt like home. Three years later, I'm standing on the same gravel lot, staring at the wreckage of a clubhouse that burned to the ground and the man I ruined is standing in it, very much alive, and looking at me like I'm the fire that never went out. I...