Death in Her Hands

I always had poor circulation, low blood pressure, “a weak heart,” my husband had called it. Or perhaps I was hungry. I have to be careful, I told myself. One day I might faint in the wrong place and hit my head, or cause an accident in my car. That would be the end of me.

He was my husband, my one and only, the only man I’d ever loved. To watch him suffer was to suffer.