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the bottle to the back of her<br />
neck and then takes a long<br />
drink. The house is quiet.<br />
Marabou is alone. Her husband is<br />
at work and her kids are at school.<br />
She walks upstairs to her office.<br />
She systematically pays bills,<br />
checks her emails and says hello<br />
to her mother on Facebook.<br />
When her tasks are complete, she<br />
walks into the bedroom that she<br />
and her husband share. Her eyes<br />
dart around the room, examining<br />
the physical contents while<br />
simultaneously inventorying her<br />
emotional life. She could not live<br />
another day consumed with the<br />
sadness coursing through her<br />
heart. Death is on her mind. Tears<br />
begin to fall down her cheeks and<br />
her body is racked with silent<br />
sobs. “That is enough now<br />
Marabou,” she says to herself. “It<br />
will be better this way.” She<br />
approaches her bathtub and turns<br />
on the tap, adjusting the<br />
temperature to steaming hot. She<br />
then, slowly, walks to her bed
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