One day we decided enough was enough. Or maybe she decided. I was pretty much past decisions by then. And out of money. We'd both stopped working, and the bills were piling up. Things were getting bad. “Let's be done with all this,” she said. She still had pills from some bout of something. And we got a jug of wine for $5. Cheap white wine.

“Do you want to write a note?” she asked. “No, not really.” So we each took a handful of pills, and drank down the wine. Then we sat back on the couch, and waited.

I woke up retching. Just puking my guts out. When I remembered where I was, I figured the same thing must have happened to her. Only it hadn't. Nope.

She'd succeeded. She'd gone all the way.

I called EMS. They came, and took her away. I got locked up for a little bit.

It's all worked out. I found another job, paid off all my debts. I'm fine now – positive attitude and all. What I finally figured out, you see, is I never was that badly off. What it came down to is, I was only unhappy because of her. So now, I'm good. Really good.

Except for one thing: I can't stand white wine.