When I am without you, my dear, I feel a sorrow unknown to man.

I find myself lying awake, wishing to be brought into your warm embrace, yet I am plagued with the guilt of not being enough.

I find that, no matter how hard I try, I cannot bring myself to love.

It pains me knowing that I could never love you the way I should, but it pains me even more so knowing that despite that, you would love me all the same.

I grip the letter in my hands, rereading it over and over until the words on the page lose their meaning. How could she hide this from me? We were meant to be-- I could have fixed this-- I could have fixed us. Setting the letter down on the nightstand, I try to calm down. I look at my wife for some comfort, the thin blankets covering her rise and fall with every breath (it’s getting painfully slow now). I try to preoccupy myself yet, I find my gaze continually falling on Rosemary as her breathing slows to a stop. The heart monitor beeps to indicate her passing.

"Rosemary, why? Why did you have to leave me? I thought I did everything right--" I find myself sobbing quietly.

"William, we both know that isn't true..." my eyes widen, looking for the origin of the voice, her voice. I feel something faint grasp my shoulders. (I want so badly to lean into its touch)

“How could you do such a horrible thing to those innocent people?"

What? I couldn't help but laugh, "Rosemary, darling, you have to be joking-- You got so worked up over that? I was doing them a favor, you know?" The air around me gets colder as I hear Rosemary gasp in what I can only assume to be shock.

"You killed them, William. You killed all of them," she cries out. (I hate it when she gets sad)

"Call it what you want. There's no doubt that I did show them mercy by letting them perish. Come on, you know that I could have made them suffer more if I wanted to," I sigh, already getting tired of this.

"What on god's green earth made you think that taking them was alright in the first place?! You--," her argument dissolves into broken phrases, all of which are calling me something completely false. (it saddens me to listen to her words) She isn't giving up anytime soon.

"Dear god, Rosemary," I yell, "what do you want from me? You're being insane-- I'm telling you time and time again I helped them. Just be quiet and accept the facts." Yet, she doesn't shut up. She continues to spew nonsense, repeating the same things over and over (why is she starting to make sense?) Her voice multiplies and distorts, but it isn't just her anymore. I can hear myself harmonizing with her. I cover my ears, hoping to silence the voices of reason. (what am I doing?) Glancing over at my desk in a panic, I notice a pair of fabric scissors and begin to walk over to them. With the scissors in hand, I turn to Rosemary's body. The voices are getting louder and louder until I finally snap.

Several minutes go by before I begin to realize what I have done. The adrenaline was long gone and I was left with the sight of my wife. My dear Rosemary lies covered in cuts and bruises made by me. I look down, my hands now permanently soaked in the blood of my lifelong partner (not anymore). I get up and head to the bathroom, surrounded by the memories of our life. The plants sitting on the counter seem to stare knowingly, silently judging me for my sins. I shudder under their gaze.

Water flows out of the sink, and the soft ambiance it produces calms me ever-so-slightly. A shaky sigh escapes my mouth as I begin the tedious process of cleaning up after myself. I do my best to distract myself by escaping to memories of better days, but no matter how hard I try, I cannot escape the consequences of my actions. Eventually, I manage to finish removing the blood from my hands (why won’t it go away?) and I move to clean up our room. The sight is too much to bear. I go into autopilot, doing my best to forget what happened.