Five steps here. Seven there. Sometimes it could be six.

He knew exactly how many steps it took to walk from the bedroom to the bathroom. Or from the staircase to the bedroom. Or from the bathroom to the guest bedroom. He had walked all these ways so often. So many times he had been there, first as guest, then as lover, and finally as inmate of the house and lover. Or partner in life maybe.

He knew where not to step onto to avoid any boards creaking. When he had been sneaking through the upper hall from the guest bedroom towards her bedroom, when he had slowly opened the door and then watched her sleeping, sitting in the nearly dark room, the moon only lighting her delicate form, her angelic face. He often had sat there for minutes, hours sometimes, till he had returned to his bed shortly before she would wake up and see him.

He knew which part of the carpet he had to give a tug to smooth the surface. When it had formed some small hills and waves as some carpets did annoyingly often when they weren't fixed to the floor with carpet tape. But Jenny hadn't wanted to glue it to the floor and so he had gotten used to tugging and smoothing it.

He knew the origin of every scar the wooden floor and the carpet were showing, as he knew where the many different specks and blotches came from. They all were telling their own story and he had learned each one of these stories.

And he knew how Jenny looked like, standing in the upper hall at the top of the stairs, in a gown that would have been worth an emperor, smiling at him who was waiting at the bottom of the staircase; waiting for his princess, his queen, his empress.