The way the phone fell from her hand reminded him of an atom bomb, its slow descent ended by the shattering of glass and little pieces of technology shrapneling around her ankles. If he thought calling her name would keep her from running towards the man in white, he would have used it. Instead he stood, a sentinel, the affair she'd never admit, as the woman for whom his heart beat tasted the kisses of someone else. A stranger now, he waited for her to look back at him- just once. She never turned, her downy curls the final salute.
First time for this challenge. What can I say? I love prompts. They make me write, which makes me write better.