Ashes of Betrayal, A Dying Wish

ye

was there, his laptop open on our shared kitchen table, his scent on

o build an empire, he with his tech start-up,

day, he

rning and his side of the bed was cold. His closet was empty. A note was

this anymore

ished. He blocked my number, deleted his old social media profi

ilence. I blamed myself. Was I too focused on my work? Was I not supportive enough of his

, I thought it was stress. Grief. Then came the dizzy s

orried. Their faces were a constant map of concern for me. So I went. I booked a solo trip

view of snow-capped peaks, a man with kind eyes and a

gliobl

ges of my own brain. I saw a dark, ugly mass spreading like an inkbl

l questions about palliative care options. The doctor looked at me wit

brave. I

gnosis just filled that empty space with a cold, h

e that would change the way people told stories. We' d picked out names for the kids, for the dog, for the g

emaining things in a box that I never sent. I methodically researched end-o

ly assisted end for terminal patients. I filled out the paperwork. I sa

mposed. It was like managi

have dinner with me. A drunk driver ran a red light. I got the ca

e, gone. The last threads conne

was a necessity. The emptiness became a crushing

attered my past to witness its final, definitive end. It was a selfish, desperate act from a woman with nothing left

calm. But his voice on the phone, the casual way he dismiss

was a dull, familiar ache.