𝑱𝒆𝒇𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒚 𝑺𝒕𝒚𝒍𝒆𝒔

     “Who   are   you?”

     It echoes in my head like it happened yesterday. I was so shocked I wanted to faint. Adrienne didn’t know who I was. The doctor later told me Adrienne was suffering from amnesia. She explained the condition as memory loss and that there were types, and the only way to know which one she was suffering from was to run some tests.

     Those moments were very difficult, and I know I will never forget them. Sheriff Hunt’s face fills with sadness as I tell him how our accident occurred and why I feel guilty.

     “My wife couldn’t cope with the trauma of the accident. She spoke of self-harm to me once, and I hired her a psychotherapist.”

     I tell him a bit about Dr. Hassan and how he came into the picture. I’m sure he’d be very devastated to know his patient killed herself. His eight months of hard work feel like a massive waste of time. She killed herself after all, even when a therapist intervened.

     “I didn’t think she’d succumb and do it. I know yesterday’s misunderstanding led her to do it. I’m such a jerk.” I slap my face.

     “No, Jeff. You’re not. Your mistake is cheating and not admitting to it.”

     I know he’s saying this to alleviate my suffering. My mistake. Mistake is sugar-coated. My blunder is better. I should have confessed to Adrienne the day she saw the stains of lipstick and ended my affair with Ella. This is all my fault. No one can talk me out of that. I know my conscience wouldn’t.

     “So you want to rule this as suicide?”

     He makes it sound as though I’m deciding and coming to a conclusion. “Adrienne killed herself. Everyone who knew her in this neighborhood can attest to that. I’m only sad I couldn’t protect her from herself. I abandoned her when she needed me the most.”

     He picks up his hat and puts it on. “All right. I’ll be expecting you later at the station.”

     “Sure.”

     “Can I give you some friendly advice?”

     I bob my head, wondering what he’s going to say.

     He gets up and adjusts his utility belt. “When my first wife died, I thought of what I could’ve done to save her. For months, I wallowed in self-loathing. Then I realized there was nothing I could’ve done to save her. There’re somethings we just can’t control and at best, you only live with them.”

     “Thank you,” I say, leading him to the front door.

     “Grieve all you want, but don’t loathe yourself. You can’t save people from death. When it’s their time, it’s their time.”

     That’s a wise talk, and I’ll try to put them into action. When we reach the front door, I notice the crowd has dwindled and Adrienne’s body has been taken to the morgue. Sheriff Hunt waves to me, reminding me that I’ve got to come over to the station later. I wave back and watch him call his deputy.

     As I return inside, familiar faces stare at me, pitying me. Some would say things behind my back. Things like: his crazy wife finally did it. Poor Adrienne, she killed herself after all! I knew she was going to do it.

     None of them matters because people talk a lot. What matters is that I’ve lost Adrienne, and I couldn’t tell her I love her so much. I slam the door and press my head against it, crying bitterly. Slowly I droop, then fall to the floor. I can’t believe this has happened.