"You know what you feel like to me, Jack? Home."

Sabrina was making her intentions known.

Her actions all but said, 'Here I am, Jack. The next move? It's yours to make.'

As so he did.

"I'm sorry, Audrey."

Sometimes there just are no words. Only actions.

Her stricken sea-green eyes riveted to him, arms hanging limply at her side, Audrey attempted to speak but was silenced by something she saw in Jack's gaze. It wasn't pity. Nor was it consolation. It was something uncomfortably close to an outcome she had never contemplated.

Goodbye.

Time ceased for Audrey. One moment, Jack stood before her, apologizing then kissing her softly on the forehead; the next, he'd turned and walked away. That all may have transpired in no more than 90 seconds at the most. Yet it felt as if she'd just spent 90 minutes enveloped in fog. Audrey did not register the gentle grip of her father's hands upon her shoulders as he led her from the dance floor. Nor did she acknowledge the hushed whispers of the guests; those, like the innocuous words of her father promising, "Everything will be alright," were nothing more than white noise. She barely felt the hot tears as they began to spill from her eyes. Probably because she was too busy trying to maintain the view that was rapidly becoming increasingly blurred with each passing second.

Jack.

Specifically, his retreating form as sure, determined steps carried him out of the ballroom; effectively, out of her life. And instead to the woman everyone within earshot had just heard him declare was—and always would be—"it" for him.

Sabrina.