(Nate's POV)

Now I was standing in front of her, in our house that we had bought together, looking deep into her eyes. She was feeling sick today, so she had stayed home from work. She didn't look any better when I came home later that day. I had gotten off work a little earlier to check on her. I found her standing in the living room. She then walked over to me, saying that she had some news for me. Before she could say anything, she fell backwards. She didn't hit the ground, she fell right through it. Something was wrong with the machine, but it didn't matter, I was too caught up in the moment. Everything around me began to deteriorate, pixels and glitches throughout the memory. She was suddenly gone, except now I wasn't at home anymore. The memory was distorted, discolored, except for her. She was in a hospital bed, crying, screaming in pain. She was pregnant. That was the news. Then the scene changed. She was holding the child in her arms, her body connected to a million machines around her. I bent down next to her and she handed me the child, fast asleep wrapped in a blanket. Our daughter. I asked her what we should name her. She looked like she was asleep, her eyes closed, but she spoke and her voice broke a little.

"Ariah."

Then the heart rate monitor next to her flatlined. I looked down at our daughter, and the next 15 years flashed before my eyes. Her first steps, which I completely ignored. Her in her highchair, refusing to eat spinach, me throwing the entire bowl down in frustration, making her cry. Her first day of kindergarten. All of her firsts which I had simply ignored as not important. All I could think of was how she killed my one love. All I see in front of me is the reason her mother isn't next to me, smiling as always. She was never coming back. Something deep inside of me told me to forgive her, she didn't kill her on purpose. Every time I think I can forgive, my eyes travel back to the empty space in my bed where she used to sleep, and my mind is made up. I could never forgive her for killing her.

(Ariah's POV)

I tripped and fell in the hallway, staggering to my feet. Sure enough, there was the machine, and there was my father in the tube, gas surrounding him in a blanket, wrapping him in a hug. I ran up to the monitor screen. Sure enough, the screen was flashing with a warning sign that read 'Warning: Frequency Separation. Disconnect Immediately'. I had no idea what that meant, but I knew danger meant bad. Only problem was I wasn't sure how to disconnect him from it. I had always caught him before he was able to get in, he never taught me how to use it, he had every reason not to. I pushed every button on the screen, nothing seemed to do anything. I was screaming and crying, ramming my palm repeatedly into the screen. I then started pulling the tubes connecting to the machine itself. They popped out, but the gas now simply flowed into the room, I started choking on it. I hurried back to the screen. My hand found the options screen. One of the smaller buttons read, "Master Shutdown" I slammed my hand on that button so hard it could have broken. But the tube began to open, I heard the rest of the air pressure and the locks release. I ran to it and caught my unconscious father as he slumped out of the tube. He toppled me with his weight, I struggled not to let him drop down roughly. Why was I helping the one who hated my guts with every fiber of his being? I guess I couldn't help but think that one day, he would forgive me for what I did to him. For what I could not control. I touched his face, then put my hand next to his mouth. Still breathing, somehow he was still breathing deeply. I dragged him to his bed, and heaved him on to it, then pulled a blanket over him. He never stirred, not once. The gas from the chamber filled the small apartment, got into my system, got into my head. I never made it to my room. I collapsed in a heap next to the mirror in the hallway, the only mirror in the house. In it, I saw my mom, looking at me, smiling. I had only seen pictures of her, but somehow I felt like I knew what she looked like. Maybe it was the gas? A little bit of dad's memory of what she looked like was now with me. I touched my hand to the mirror.

"What am I supposed to do?" I asked her.

She didn't respond.