Goodnight, sweetheart

He was resting at last. A deep and dreamless sleep. He was so beautiful when he slept, when he wasn't tormented by his demons. There hadn't been many peaceful nights for either of them lately. But he was sleeping now and the relief would have overwhelmed her but for the fear that was her constant companion.

Her mind slipped back in time, back many years, to the first night she had shared with him. They had both been someone else's partner then but the desire and the longing had been too much for either of them to resist. Deception is a cruel act and neither of them had intended to cause so much hurt. Sometimes, he had said later, doing the right thing is just too hard. Sometimes you have to follow your heart. She nodded in agreement at the memory. Yes, my darling, sometimes you do.

She looked at him sleeping so very peacefully now. He looked pale but he was still beautiful, still handsome, despite the years that had passed. He had often declared the lines that marked his face to be his battle scars and the grey that flecked his once-brown hair the evidence of survival. He was not a vain man even though he had always been attractive, the sort of man that a wife's friends admired. He had been a kind and generous man; a loving and affectionate husband; and her soul mate. He had declared himself lucky in finding her but she knew she was the lucky one.

As she watched him sleeping now she ached to lie beside him and to feel the warmth of his body once more but it wasn't time. Not yet. The letter had to be finished but it was so hard to find the right words, to explain why. How can you make someone understand how you feel, to explain that what you have done is for the best even when it causes hurt and pain?

Sighing, she signed the letter and read it over again. Can words ever be enough? It seemed to make sense to her but she understood. Would anyone else? She hoped so; she didn't want to cause any more pain. There had been too much pain; there was still too much pain. It was time to put an end to it all now. She looked at the sleeping man and listened carefully to his breathing. It was quiet, soft, shallow. Not long now.

When they had been told his pain was untreatable, that he had left it too late to seek help, they had discussed what needed to be done. She had to be brave, he had said. He was the brave one, coping with the pain, barely complaining, but seeing it through until the end. Watching him suffer would be so very hard but life without him would be unbearable she had told him. He said he understood but talked of life afterwards, without him. He had made her promise to make a good life for herself when he was gone. He didn't understand, not really. And so she had made her plans.

His breathing changed and caught her attention. It was still shallow but no longer regular. Her tears flowed silently as she watched his chest barely rise then fall, barely rise then fall, rise then fall for the last time. A searing, unbearable pain raced through her body and she wanted to scream with agony. He was gone. His pain and his suffering were over. The world - her world - was instantly cold, black and empty.

Now it was her turn. Time to end the pain. Whiskey and sleeping tablets would do the trick. Slipping under the duvet, she lay beside her husband for the last time. She was grateful that he felt warm and snuggled up as she always had but tonight he wouldn't, couldn't respond in the familiar way and her body didn't understand. It ached for his arms, his touch, his warm breath on her cheek. But it was too late and she wasn't brave enough to face the loneliness and the pain night after night, day after day. She felt exhausted. She needed to sleep. Kissing his still warm cheek once more, she whispered 'Goodnight, sweetheart. I have loved you so very, very much' and closed her eyes to wait for the end to all her pain.