Pain of losing haunted Frank for years. Rage and grief made him more ruthless in his war against responsible for deaths of his wife and children.

One day, after rough night spent on streets of Hell's Kitchen, when he had tortured members of arms trafficking gang, Frank found himself in bar, ordering himself shot of whiskey.

Seeing you behind bar, sitting alone, his heart twitched - you didn’t look exactly like his dead wife, but a little similar. He couldn't figure out what it was - maybe the way your eyes sparkled or something else. He couldn't stay away.

Your relationship was growing faster, but you had no idea that he was using you as substitute for his wife, as her shadow, meant to dull pain in his heart little, brighten his loneliness. Until one day.

During your quarrel with him, which started over some trifling matter, he let himself say some terrible.

"You're nothing like Maria." he snapped, looking at you with disappointment in gaze. "You look like similar, but you'll never compare to her."

He hardly realized that every word hurt you like a knife to chest. He was angry with you, though deep down he knew it wasn't your fault, that you were you, not copy of his dead wife.

He left that night, slamming door behind him, leaving you with broken heart, choking back sobs in middle of your living room.

You didn't deserve to be treated like that in return for how you loved and cared for him. But he would realize that much later.

Frank thinks about you more and more. Your image haunts him in dreams. Absurd thing is that when he closes his eyes, calling up memories of you, he thinks only of details in which you are so unlike Maria. Only now he realize what a wonderful woman you are, how much he liked your personality. His longing for you grows every day.

And now, standing on your doorstep for three hours, in pouring rain, his forehead pressed against front door, he prays to gods that you will give him chance to make things right.

"Five minutes, Guest." he shouts out, knocking again. "Let me see you for just five minutes