Then there were some of Lucas, some of the boys, and some more with me with the boys. Sarah was nowhere to be seen. The photos that had been added more recently were mostly of the boys, but I was in a few of them. And that was it. From our holiday in September until the last photo she posted, there was not a single one of her. Where did she go? It was as if she vanished. Even within the contents of her handbag, she was barely there. Just one sad lonely lipstick, that was all there was of her. But she didn’t vanish . . . she faded. Faded away right in front of me, and I didn’t even see it.
The longer I sat; the angrier I got. I was angry at myself for not seeing that she needed help, and I was angry at her for not asking for it and for thinking that it was okay to do this, to just checkout and leave me.
2016
I was not sure at what stage I became aware of the fact that I was still alive, breathing, and in hospital, but it was before I was fully conscious that was for sure.
I drifted for what could have been minutes, hours, or days. Noise, smell, and sound all gradually overwhelming my senses until I could no longer ignore or deny the fact that I was living.
My throat felt sore and scratchy when I tried to swallow, and my chest and ribs felt as if they had been crushed, kicked, or stamped on.
I licked my lips and, once again, attempted to swallow before opening and then rapidly closing my eyes.
The white light seared my pupils. It was too much. Far too bright. Far too full of life and all things living. The glare gave me an instant headache, almost like brain freeze from eating ice cream, except it vanished as soon as I closed my eyes and shut out the harsh fluorescent glow, life, and the world.
I left it a few moments before making another attempt, and as I did, I become aware of someone else in the room. My heart lurched against my ribcage before crashing to my stomach.
There was a person in my room.
At least one, maybe more.
People—I was going to have to face people. I was going to have to face my family, my friends, even the nurses and staff at the hospital, and I was going to have to explain my actions. I hadn't brokered for this scenario, I truly believed I had taken enough tablets to do the job. Failure had been neither an option nor a consideration. It was now a stark reality, the bleeping of the equipment, the sensation of a blood pressure cuff tightening around my arm every so often, and that distinct hospital smell assaulting my nostrils were all evidence of that.
I opened my eyes again, but instead of looking up, where I knew the unforgiving illumination was waiting to attack my retinas, I let my head drift to my shoulder so I could see who was in the room with me.
Wrong move, the worst.
Sitting in a chair facing me was my husband. He had his long legs stretched out in front of him, his arms folded across his chest, and his eyebrows drawn down into a frown, hiding the blue of his eyes. Despite this, the intensity of his stare wasn’t lost on me, even in my not quite fully conscious state.
I blinked rapidly a few times in succession to try to clear the blurriness of my vision, but I wished I hadn’t. I watched as my husband’s handsome face crumbled. I watched as tears sprung from his eyes and ran down his cheeks. I continued to watch as he sat forward in his chair, looked down at the floor, raked his hands through his hair, and then looked back up at me.
He cleared his throat before standing and leaning forward on the baseboard at the end of my bed. He cleared his throat once again and then rubbed at his eyes with his knuckles. I took in his hair, which had flopped forward and was hanging over to one side, as well as the days’ worth of stubble on his jaw and chin. I looked at anything but the cold steely stare and his bloodshot eyes as he looked across at me.
“What did you do? What the fuck did you do, Sarah? Why, why would you . . .” His voice trailed off on a sob.
He again cleared his throat, and I knew that he wasn’t done yet. Why would he be? I was his wife and the mother of his children, he deserved answers, right?
“Me. Us. The boys. I don’t understand. Why, Sarah? Why would you want to leave us? How could you want to leave them? You of all people should understand what that would do, how that would feel.”
I said nothing. Silent tears rolled down my cheeks as I repeatedly licked my lips and attempted to swallow. My sore and parched throat wasn’t the reason for my silence, though. I said nothing because there would be no point. He hadn’t heard me for years, so why would he hear me now?
“My life, Sarah, every breath that I take, every beat of my heart. Every decision I make, consciously or unconsciously, is ultimately about you . . . for you, us, our boys. You’re my world, my reason for existing. I thought I was yours. I thought the boys and I were your world, but I obviously got that wrong.”
He stared at me for a few long moments, and I focused on the column of his throat as he swallowed hard.
“Why? Start talking, Sares, tell me why the fuck you would do something so selfish, so fucking spiteful, mean, and uncaring to our kids and me? Start fucking talking.”
A loud, raspy sob escaped me as I shook my head.
“Fucking tell me! Tell me why death was a better option than life with me? Start fucking talking,” he roared, but I just continued to sob and shake my head.