He didn't understand why the act of violence did little to comfort him. Why he was still so tormented by his own demons, the self doubt, insecurities, the constant drumbeat in his head asking questions he couldn't answer.
He'd been sure pulling the trigger would end the story but he overlooked the fact that for all her flaws Mary had been kind to him too, he'd overlooked the travesty that was murdering a woman who was already near death from cancer.
The realization that the true object of his affections, the one he'd wanted at the end of the deceit hated the very ground he walked on and begrudged him the air he breathed. He told himself he didn't care that she hated him...
The question that dogged his thoughts now though was had she ever loved him, was she who he knew in his heart he needed her to be, would he ever know.
Would they meet one day at Trudeau airport, would she smile through teary eyes and all be forgiven, would he hold her as he'd longed for so long to.
No, that part of the story wasn't meant to be and if she ever were to see him at Trudeau the simple fact that she would spit in his face for all of the pain his cheating, miserable rotten heart had caused.
His breathing as the asthma attack gripped him became too hard, the depth of the wasted time, the coldness where his once warm heart was all crashed down around him.
Once he'd seen his future in her smile then he'd taken that smile away, his violence had cut her deeply, she'd never smile for him again.