From "The Homecoming"

It had been weeks since the night Garth had taken her to the holo-palace, and he grew a bit more distant with every day. Tonight he was rather late coming home again. A few minutes later than he had been the night before, which in turn had been a few minutes later than the night before that. He was leaving her by degrees, it seemed, and she could do nothing to keep him. Worst of all, he'd hardly touched her since that night.

Alana looked down at the canvas in the lap. As the real Garth slipped away, the one represented in thread grew more distinct. He stood, fully dressed, in the middle of that sun-drenched meadow. She couldn't mistake his image, as much as she hadn't wanted to stitch it there. The gold needle she was holding at the moment had made her put her own husband in a place that she herself had no intention of ever seeing. That same needle drew her -- day and night, now -- to complete the picture, as thought it knew her fate better than she did.

Garth was going to leave her.

 

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