To the Point of Shatter

6. Aiden

        I can't really describe what it is like to walk into my bedroom to check on my wife to find her with a gun pointed under her jaw.

        I feel like the Earth has opened up and swallowed me. I feel like every bit of oxygen has been sucked out of the room. I feel like my heart stops beating. And even that doesn't seem enough to do justice to my panic.

        And afterwards: after I am able to get her to give me the gun, after I put her back to bed, lock the gun back up and pocket the key, and while I sit in our darkened room watching her sleep from my Grandmother's old chair, even then I am still shaking.

        I was almost too late. I almost didn't come at all. I was writing and though it occurred to me to check on her, see if she'd eaten, gotten up like she said she would, I didn't want to be a pest. She really didn't want me hovering over her. And I thought if I let her be, let her work through things in her own time, it would pass. That she would find her way back to me.

        I have never been more wrong.

        Instead, by not being vigilant, by not demanding that she get the help she clearly needs, I nearly lost her. Again.

        I had been passive. There were days I was actually relieved that she chose to stay in bed. God forgive me. But mostly, I worried. She wasn't eating. I knew she really wasn't even though she insisted she was. Look at her. There's nothing left to her. She slept all of the time and when she wasn't asleep she laid in bed staring at the walls. I KNEW this and still I did nothing. She had minimal contact with Ava and that was more rattling than anything else. If she couldn't surface for Ava, I sure as hell didn't know what it would take.

        During this month of hell, I had been with Chloe. Not just the first two times, either. And I couldn't really explain it even to myself. I love Abby with every fiber of my being. But I had become drawn to Chloe, who is uncomplicated and grateful for my attention and a place to lose my mind and all that was in it. Trust me. There is regret. Soul killing, sleepless night regret. And then we're alone and I can't resist the haven that she has become. I care for her. I am not in love with her but I care for her. She has been absolutely steadfast in her support of me and Abby, as bizarre as that may sound.

        But today I find Abby in our room with a gun in her hands. A loaded gun with the safety off and a bullet in the chamber, her finger on the trigger. Her despair is so deep, so immense, this is the only way she could find to make it go away.

        This madness has to stop. I had to get back to my wife, to being her husband, to who I am at my core. There would be no more nights with Chloe. I had to PAY ATTENTION. The balance here is tenuous. I had to stop distracting myself. Being so selfish. Or I might as well take that gun and shoot her myself.

        I watch the even rise and fall of Abby's breathing, every breath a precious thing. I am afraid to leave the room but I know soon I will have to go care for Ava, have the past due talk with Chloe. I start looking around the room, searching for things she can hurt herself with. My eyes fall on a nail file with a pointed end on the bedside table. I quietly get up and take it away. My hands are still trembling, though not as badly. I turn but can't see anything else that she can use. I go into the bathroom and stare with dismay at the line of pill bottles, including her antidepressant, a bottle of Percocet, her sleeping pills. I search beneath the sink and see toilet cleaner. I get out a bag and start dumping stuff into it- pills, nail polish remover, cleaners and razors. I leave the bathroom and contemplate taking her scarves and belts but when I look around I can see nowhere that would support even her diminished weight, should she try to hang herself.