No matter what happens?

Once he started, he couldn't stop.
It was harmless at first. Just the free sites, not clicking on the links. Lesbians that probably weren't lesbians; eighteen-year-olds that were probably closer to twenty-eight.
But they just didn't do it for him anymore, after a while.
He dug deeper.
He couldn't sleep, most nights. He lay in bed listening to the tidal rise and fall of his wife's chest, sometimes wishing that he could somehow turn back, return through the door that walking through had snapped shut behind him. But most of the time he just thought about the drawer downstairs, the knife inside it.
One day, he knew, there would be a knock at the door.
And he prayed that, when that day came, he would be able to get to the drawer in time.

The cash machine couldn't be right. There had to be some mistake.
Three-grand overdrawn? It couldn't be right; it made no sense.
He asked for a statement; waited while the machine processed his request.
He stared at the receipt for a few moments, his mind blank.
Then he screwed it up, tossed it onto the pavement, and turned to walk back home.
"Didn't you buy anything? Carol asked him when he got back home.
"The cash machine was out of order, he said.
She left it at that.

"Can you give Josie her bath tonight, Dave?
He hesitated for a few moments, before saying that he would.
He tested the water. It was a little hot, but probably okay.
His daughter undressed before him.
She wasn't his little girl anymore. She was growing up. She would be a woman soon.
He stood up abruptly.
"You're a big girl now, Josie ' I think it's time that you had a bath on your own.
He left the room.

Carol was sat up in bed, a paperback in her hands.
"Hi honey, she said, looking up briefly to give him a smile.
He sat on the edge of the bed, for a while not saying anything.
"Do you still love me, Carol? he asked.
"Of course I do, silly!
"Will you always love me, no matter what happens?
"Of course I will, Dave. What's the matter with you?
He didn't answer. He stood up and walked towards the door.
"Where are you going?
"I think I left the TV on downstairs.
"Well hurry back ' I want to show you just how much I do love you.
No matter what happens?

He groped for the switch in the dark. Found it. The light stung his eyes.
He walked to the cutlery drawer, fumbling around in it for a few moments before finding what he was looking for.
He took it out, seizing the handle, testing the blade.
The first one drew blood, but not nearly enough. It dribbled down his neck, pattering onto the linoleum as he retightened his fingers around the handle.
No matter what happens?
He dug deeper.