𝑯𝒆𝒓 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝒈𝒊𝒇𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒔𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒔.
Elizabeth Reid learned, at seventeen, that she was going to die. Diagnosed with terminal cancer, she's faced with a question that no one should have to answer.
How do you leave a mark on a wo...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"What do you mean you're going to kill yourself?"
My father's voice cracked as he said those words, his face a mask of confusion and horror. I hadn't meant to phrase it quite like that, but now that it was out there, I realised how it must have sounded.
"Dad, it's not—" I started, but Mum cut me off.
"Elizabeth Reid, you cannot be serious," she said, her tone sharp with disbelief. "After everything we've been through, after all the treatments and—"
"Mum, please, just listen," I pleaded, raising my hands. "I'm talking about assisted suicide. At the hospital."
The kitchen fell silent, save for the quiet hum of the refrigerator and the ticking of the clock on the wall. I looked at each of their faces in turn: Dad, his brow furrowed in concern; Mum, her lips pressed into a thin line; and little Meri, my seven-year-old sister, who seemed more confused than anything else.
I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. This wasn't how I'd planned to have this conversation, but I should have known it wouldn't be easy. How do you tell your family that you've decided when and how you're going to die?
"I know we've talked about the organ donation," I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper. "But I've made a decision about... about how I want to go."
Dad's eyes widened in understanding, but Mum's expression remained unchanged. Meri tugged at her sleeve.
"Mummy, what's assisted suicide?" she asked, her innocent question piercing the tension in the room.
Mum ignored her, her gaze fixed on me. "Elizabeth, darling, you're not thinking clearly. The treatments—"
"The treatments aren't working, Mum," I interrupted, hating the way my voice trembled. "We all know that. I've known it for a while now."
"No," Dad said, shaking his head. "No, that's not true. The doctor said—"
"He said we should prepare for all eventualities," I finished for him. "This is me preparing."
I watched as the reality of my words sank in. Dad slumped into a chair, his head in his hands. Mum remained standing, her posture rigid, as if holding herself together through sheer force of will. Meri looked between us all, her bottom lip quivering.
"Beth, are you going away?" she asked, her voice small and frightened.
I knelt down beside her, forcing a smile onto my face. "Not yet, Meri. I'm just talking to Mum and Dad about some grown-up stuff. Why don't you go play in your room for a bit?"
She nodded hesitantly, casting one last glance at our parents before scurrying out of the kitchen. As soon as she was gone, Mum seemed to deflate, collapsing into the chair next to Dad.
"How long have you been thinking about this?" she asked, her voice hollow.
I stood up, leaning against the kitchen counter. "A few weeks," I admitted. "Ever since my last check-up."
