"What?" I ask the doctor. "No." JC says. "She did not miscarry." He says. "JC," I start. "I know it hurts." He looks at me. "But we have to focus on the positive. What we have. Four beautiful children." I want to say something sentimental, but I feel myself slipping back into the deep abyss of depression. The temptation to slice my wrists, the temptation to not eat. The temptations that the demons that remain in my head repeat to me every night. 'Don't eat.' 'Cut.' I need help. I should go into therapy. "Amanda?" Asks JC. "What?" He asks. "You said all that out loud." He smiles and squeezes my hand. "Therapy." I say. "Therapy." He repeats in a silent whisper. That was the last thing I heard him say, after the gunshot rang in my ears, and I heard the spatter of blood on the floor. I looked up, and JC was laying there.
