He stares at the microwave dinner. He'd thought he was hungry, but just feels nauseous now.

Neither he nor Anya were good cooks, but there was something companionable about sharing a pizza at home together. He'll never have that with Anya again.

He probably shouldn't have that with anyone else, either. He keeps thinking about the horrible things he said to Anya, kept piling on even though she was already crying. He'd thought stopping the wedding would protect her, but the problem wasn't marriage. Just him.

He should get used to cooking for one. For the rest of his life.