He has good days and bad days. I’m always there for him. He feels it more than me, you see. Well, he would.
Today is a bad day. It started at the breakfast table, “I keep seeing her…sleeping in her cot. Just sleeping,” he muttered.
It’s been a year now. A year without Amy. A year of torment and anguish for one of us. He just can’t see it my way. Because he doesn’t know. If I could only make him see…but I can’t. Would it make him feel better? Would he understand? No, of course not.
Let him believe in Cot Death.
But, can I let him go through this inner turmoil much longer? Maybe, if I explain that I did it for us…make him see that Amy was not going to repair our marriage.
He’d feel better, knowing Amy experienced no pain; that it was quick and easy. As I held the pillow over her tiny face, it wasn’t long before she fell limp.
If I choose the right words, maybe…just maybe, he will see why I couldn’t allow Amy to live. If he had experienced the shrill in my head each time she cried, if he had looked into her eyes and saw hatred staring back at him too, he would understand. Amy was the devil. She would have torn us apart.
We won’t have anymore babies. Nothing will interfere with my head. Never. But I won’t tell him that.
© Deborah Raine 2005
Debs needs no biog for most readers. She is ex-WL student and ex-WL ezine ‘The Muse’ editor and is as busy as ever with ideas, websites and forums:
Novel a Year http://www.novel-a-year.com/
Open Forum http://carryonwriting.invisionzone.com/index.php
NAY Forum http://novel-a-year.invisionzone.com/index.php
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