Author's Note: If dark topics of life and death, loss, or suicide are triggering to you, please proceed with caution or find another story. Thanks.
​

Today was June the nineteenth at three o'clock p.m.. Just a day, a time, yet today seemed very distant to him. Jason Graves sat alone at his desk shuffling through towers of overdue papers. Bills had fallen slowly behind over a period of weeks, and he now needed desperately to make the ends finally meet. For fourteen hours straight he'd sat in isolation, struggling to straighten out the mess. Papers, bills, and letters, all stacked high as his old ambitions. They snickered at him, knowing he would never catch up.

​Distractions from next door tempted him away from his work; soft music flowing out of the room adjoined to his home office settled into his ears. A soothing piano melody enveloped him and seduced him with the lull of sleep, just as it did the baby. His eyes threatened to close but snapped open as they'd done a hundred times before.

​From as far back as Jason could remember, Gwen had dreamed of having a family. A little over a year before, Jason finally got the nerve to pop the question, and not long after, Gwen broke her news, too. The thought of a baby terrified him, but as her pregnancy progressed, he warmed to the idea. Even the mood swings and the cravings ceased to annoy him. Only one thing mattered anymore: bringing home a healthy little boy or girl, and they did.

​The day they brought Angel home was the happiest day of both their lives. Joy filled the Graves's household each day the baby's parents looked into her smiling face. Oh, the memories were sweet, but Jason shook his head. He could no longer fill his mind with thoughts of her. The bills still needed paying, and she only disturbed him.

​Angel cried ceaselessly at night, and Gwen would not allow him to touch her any longer. No meaningful sleep had come to him for several weeks now. His days filled themselves with piles of unsorted mail and unpaid bills, his nights with insomnia and the baby's cries. The voice, her voice, drifted above the music and settled deep in his soul. "Enough!" Jason stood up from his desk and slammed the door, but still he could hear Gwen singing that same lullaby.

"Mama's little Angel, My Angel, My Girl..."

​"Shut up!" He cried out and slammed his fist hard upon the desk. His fingers throbbed with pain. He stared at the bruises made from past fits, and the gash caused by sending his hand through the wall a week before. From time to time, he lost control. The less sleep he had, the less control he had over his temper.

​Suddenly, the doorbell jolted him from his rage, and he rushed down the stairs to get it. As soon as he opened the door, he shut it back, but still in came this unwelcome visitor.
​"Go away, Brian," Jason ordered.

​"Not until you stop this nonsense," Brian Johnson barked at his best friend, pushing his way through the door. "You have not come out of this house in two weeks now."

​"I can't. I just can't." Jason closed the door and paced aimlessly a moment before making his way into the kitchen.

​"You need to come back to work. The boss understands. He's anxious for you to return. Plus, the boys miss you, too," Brian tried to persuade his stubborn friend, but he knew it would be to no avail.​

"No one misses me. You're a liar, and you know it."

Jason groped around in the refrigerator until he laid a hand on a can of wine. Then, he popped off the cap and took a huge swig.
​
"I just came to try...let me help—"

​"I don't need your help!" Jason slammed the can down and spilled the red liquid all over the counter. Brian just stared with pity in his eyes.

"I said I don't need you," he closed his eyes slowly. "I don't need anyone."

​"I bought this a while ago." Brian laid down a small card covered by a white envelope, "Annie and I thought you might still want it." Brian slowly walked out the door, keeping his eyes on his friend as he went. "Poor soul..."

​Jason laid a hand on the card, a million thoughts in his head of what it must say. He drew it forth and read it aloud, "Happy Father's Day." That, he never expected.

For a moment, he stared at it, running his thumb along the edge of the envelope. He felt the sharp sting of paper cutting his flesh. Just another wound.

He swallowed hard, not wanting himself to believe. He felt the pain well up inside of him again, that hot anger, and he slung it across the room with all his might. He rushed out of the kitchen, back to the stairs, suppressing it, begging it to leave him alone. He stormed up them, stomping and snorting angrily, then started back to his room.

​"What's the matter, darling?"

​His head shot up and stared at her in disbelief. Atop the staircase stood two heavenly beings that made all the blood rush from him. A young, fair skinned beauty dressed in white held a beautiful, blonde baby girl.

"Gwen..." He whispered, but the words disappeared into the silence of the room. She smiled back at him and stepped daintily, one foot, then the other, but her gaze was locked with his, instead of on her footing. She gasped as she missed the step. He saw it. He opened his mouth to call out to her, but found no words. Suddenly, before his eyes, they were tumbling heels over head down the stairwell.
​Jason watched helplessly. His body would not move. Time stood still, as Gwen and Angel toppled so, so slowly.

She rolled, shielding her precious child from the fall. With everything in her, she wanted to save her baby, even if it meant loosing her own life. With each step she hit, she let out a groan. He could feel her pain: ribs breaking and the blood now flowing. He felt her head hit the chair rail, and her fingers start slipping her grip on the baby.

​He rushed down to her, and touched her, but she wasn't there. His head slowly lowered next to where hers had lain and rested upon the bottom step, eyes bulging with terror. He looked at the blood stained on the newly carpeted floor. He stared at the blood on his hands in disbelief. This wasn't from the paper cut.

His hands weren't the only place it was: it covered his whole body. He couldn't even breathe; the pain overtook him. He now realized the blood was not hers, but his. "You did it...you finally did it," he sighed with relief as he took one last look up those wretched stairs before closing his eyes...forever.

The music began to play again. He heard it so clearly now. The sweet melody played his final lullaby as she called out to him, "Daddy's coming, Angel. Daddy's coming home."

Author's Note: If you are experiencing grief or suicidal thoughts please get help. This is fiction and no one deserves to be left alone in their grief. For the grief hotline dial 800-662-HELP (4357). The suicide prevention hotline is 800-273-8255 or suicidepreventionlifeline.org to speak to someone online.