My wife, Laura, couldn’t handle it. She was distraught with pain and I couldn’t do anything. I sat through her rants, without uttering a single word. I held a blank expression as the police came to my house. They were notified of a disturbance by a neighbour. I was asked plenty of questions but it was ruled as suicide. My life lay in tatters where I stood. As people do, they talk. Word got around that Laura had killed herself. I heard little children in the neighbourhood muttering the likes of, ‘overdosed’ or ‘she sliced and diced herself’.
I couldn’t live in that house anymore, I sold it. I sold everything and threw out the rest, all except one photograph of my lovely Isabella and darling Laura in the happier times.
Then I joined the army, I carried a knife with me. It was a painful reminder of what Laura had done. What I should never attempt to do. I vowed I would not kill. I would help people. I heard of someone who helped evacuate families out of their homes due to war.
Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw there