She loved him so much. Especially his smile that greeted her hostility no matter how angry she was at him. She was always so upset with him, for nothing really, she thought.
“Stop it!!! I hate when you do that.” She seemed to be always saying.
“Ya, but if I died tomorrow, you’d wish I’d do it again.” His charmed response that still cuts her deep.
“Why…Why did you have to say that to me?” She repeats to herself every time she gets in those quiet moments where she remembers those annoying things he’d do: the toilet seat up; drinking from the bottle; gazing at the TV (instead of her).
She sits again in that familiar place and guilt pours over to tears, and she cries one last time, “Honey, please do it again…one last time.”