Humans can become used to almost anything.

Who said that? Was it my 6th-form biology teacher, some literary genius, or someone so ordinary that I can't remember his name?

They were wrong.

The Doctor left one week ago—one month—I don't know anymore, because time was shattered and rewritten in flames on the water and blood on the sand. He died on that beach, and left us to mourn him.

He didn't die, and time broke for him. In the days when Time Lords existed, did this happen on a regular basis? Did the apocalypse come so often they had to schedule it, set it for 5:45 pm Mondays or 7 pm Saturdays, lest one run into the other?

There was no Pandorica to reboot the universe this time, no remembering him back into existence. He was what was wrong with the universe, and he had to die.

And not just die, but be killed. Killed by River.

The only way for time to continue was for my daughter to kill him. Again. The last time she killed him, she used her remaining regenerations to save him. But that trick wouldn't work this time.

The universe should know better than to stand between a Pond and her man.

My alternate self broke the laws of time to reunite us with Rory.

River let time shatter because she couldn't bear to kill the Doctor.

And the men we love are no wussies either.

Rory guarded the Pandorica for almost two thousand years, alone.

The Doctor stopped the Tessalecta from torturing her even as her poison murdered him.

I dream of that night on the pyramid, of their kiss dissolving into streams of light that ended that timeline. I guess you could say it was the kiss of all time.

Rory and I visited the National Museum the other day. The Pandorica was gone, and not so much as a paragraph about the Last Centurion. Rory likes it better that way, although he had a lot to say about the historical inaccuracy of several exhibits. And the King Arthur relics—he was a hair away from lecturing the museum guards on Artos of Britannia. I told him he should write it all up as fiction, publish it and make a thousand pounds. He just laughed and told me it's too unrealistic.

The telly was showing an adaptation of The Odyssey last night. There's one scene that keeps playing in my head—Penelope, clad in a dark tunic, slipping out of bed and down the hall to her loom. The fabric is beautiful, intricately embroidered with scenes of idyllic life and famous battles. Quietly, without making a sound, she yanks the thread out, unraveling the images. When footsteps echo in the hall, she wads the thread up and throws it in the fire. But it's too damp with tears to burn right away, so she shoves live coals over it. The footsteps pass, and she stares numbly at her burnt hands.

Every time I try to start another life, something comes around and unravels it. Penelope did not want to betray her oaths and marry another. And I don't to lose my family again.

River stumbles into the backyard. "Well, Mum, Dad, up for a social call?"

"River?" I gasp. "What are you doing here?"

"Being a good girl and visiting Mummy and Daddy." She smirked. "Is this house of yours stocked with any decent food?"

Maybe, just maybe there are some stiches that hold time steady, relationships that cannot be broken.

..."The Tesselecta? The Tesselecta!" Rory stares as the two of us glomp. I lean over and whisper the secret in his ear.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure, I'm his wife!"

"And I'm his…." I tried to seduce him! "mother-in-law?" Dear Lord, just when you think you've got it straightened out….my imaginary friend goes and marries my daughter!