Vita interrupter

Jon had been thinking about this for a while, he pulled out his best pen, and sheet of crisp paper and began:

Dear Moira,
First, I want to thank you for the last 17 years. Truly they have been some of the best years of my life. You are a magnificent person, and I could not have been luckier than to have you in my life. But, yes, I know, there’s always a but…
Coming into my life, as you did, you interrupted all of my plans. I wasn’t looking for a girlfriend, or a life partner. I was a happy bachelor, I was independent. I could keep my own schedule, watch classic movies while eating pickles in my skivvies if I so chose. I had plans: to write a screen play; to pursue other hobbies; to join a band and play bass again. I had plans to travel. I planned to write. I should have been published by now. And meeting you changed everything. You became my priority; you made me happy. I lost my edge my angst, and I can no longer write.
It's almost like that multiverse thing that’s so popular. In one timeline I’m a single bachelor, living the high life on my own. In one timeline, I’ve got you. Magnificent, wonderful you, but I don’t have that independence, I haven’t done anything noteworthy or of import. I guess what I am saying is that I want a break. Yes, I want to interrupt our lives and return, if it is possible, to the other timeline. Maybe interrupting this happy, will give me my angst back and I can return to doing things, leaving my mark somewhere, somehow.

Jon paused; he heard the key in the door, and in walked Moira. Perfect, beautiful, kind, smart, Moira. His Moira. Interrupting his train of thought, because now, all he had on his mind was, well, that it was afternoon, and the bedroom was right over there. He quickly fed the half-written letter to the confetti maker. What was he thinking.

Moira came into the room trailing a light peony perfume, and Jon was captivated. After seventeen years, the sight of her still quickened his pulse. She hung her purse off the back of a chair, shed her coat over the same chair, ran her fingers through her hair. Jon watched all of this, and thoughts of alternative timelines fled to the far reaches of his brain. He was right where he was supposed to be. Nothing had been interrupted. Except, wait a minute, what? Moira was saying something about. What? He tried to focus on her words.

“Before I met you, Jon, I was an up-and-coming photographer. I ran into the owner of a gallery on 12th in the arts district. She’d wanted to show my photos, back in the day. Well, she asked if I was still taking photos. It’s been almost twenty years, and she remembered my works. You know I love you Jon, you know that I consider myself very lucky to have had you in my life these past seventeen years, but…”

— Lkai