"In sickness and in health," she says, tears in her eyes, barely perceptible, the revolver in her hands, glinting in the harsh light of the sun. I kneel there as she towers over me, my palms digging into the biting cold of the snow. I look down, the snow is stained red. I'm dizzy, my breathing short.
"To love and to cherish," I respond on instinct. Tears are flowing steadily down her face.
"Don't cry," my voice comes out hoarse, "I hate it when you cry."
She's sobbing now, loud, ugly cries, her hands shaking. Tears blur my vision. Shit. I wasn't supposed to cry too. Her face hardens. Her finger lands on the trigger.
"Till death do us part."
She pulls the trigger.
