I stared at the photo, studying it to the exclusion of everything around me. Though I had pretty much forgotten that it was there, I remembered the snapshot well. It had been taken at a party some years before. My petite wife was perched on my lap with her arms around my neck, and mine were encircling her waist, hugging her close. We were both grinning, obviously filled to overflowing with the happiness of the moment. The vivid memory played back inside my skull as I recalled the gathering. What stood out most of all was the fact that only moments before that particular photo had been snapped, we had all been playing the “trust game”. In essence, it was an old pseudo-psychological exercise where you demonstrate your trust in your partner by falling backwards into their arms. We had all really just been clowning around, but in truth, there was an underlying seriousness to the results.

Almost all of the people at the get-together had faltered to some extent, much to one another’s chagrin. However, Felicity and I had fallen freely into one another without hesitation and without so much as a flinch of doubt. I hadn’t thought much of it at the time, as it simply seemed natural, but in the final analysis these were acts of absolute, blind faith. We both knew that neither of us would allow any harm to befall the other. I trusted her, she trusted me.

Trust. A concept I had only recently been forced by my overactive psyche to revisit. Fortunately, the reminder had taken hold and flourished.

I trusted in the fact that I knew Felicity was innocent, and moreover, I trusted her. Just as, even at this moment she was trusting me. Trusting me to take care of her, to get her out of this mess. But, instead of honoring that trust, here I was perched on the edge of the bed, feeling sorry for myself because she wasn’t here.