Russo
“You don't have to. Let me help you. Let me make happy memories for you?”
She blinked once, and then swallowed.
“I don't know if you can do that.”
“I can. Just let me, please.”
When the doctor delivered the news about my wife to me, a part of me felt useless, and I blamed myself. How had I not known all along? Why hadn't I gathered more information? My thoughts went haywire as I remembered everything.
I recalled how she would always flinch when I was near her. And then there were times when I would get angry and raise my voice at her—that was even too much for me to handle.
My heart stung in ways I never knew it could.
The doctor mentioned that she had self-harmed, there were cuts that I had never noticed—cuts that, shamefully, I had never cared to notice.
My selfishnes
