Part II · Descent
Carbon Monoxide
April 3rd, 2024
The first warm day of the year.
Sunlight spilling on the grass.
The kids played outside
like they hadn’t heard us fighting.
10:45 a.m.
I brought them in for naps.
Read them a story about Jesus—
something you would’ve liked.
You were in crisis again.
Withdrawn.
Blaming.
Said your dreams were filled with him.
Said a loving husband
would understand why you missed
the man who broke our vows.
I told you to pray.
You said that wasn’t supportive.
I said I wasn’t responsible
for managing your pain
when it was built on betrayal.
You said you wanted to die
because I called you a fraud.
But I wasn’t trying to bury you—
just him.
11:00 a.m.
I came down the stairs.
You were gone.
Then I heard the car.
Running.
In the garage.
The doors were locked.
I pounded.
Yelled your name.
You sped out.
Almost hit me.
I called the cops.
Another hospital stay.
Another cycle.
You’ll say you’re fine.
You’ll say I overreacted.
And no one will call it what it is.