Without another thought, she pointed it right at me and pulled the trigger. The last thing I heard was Steve sobbing and begging her to kill him, too.
Somehow, I ended up here in the corner, and ethereal version of my previous self, watching, waiting in my own private hell.
I watched Steve weeping over my body as his wife paced the room, telling him that she was not going to jail for this mistake of his, and that he was going to help her clean this mess up. He looked at her in utter disbelief, unable to respond. I saw the emotions playing on his face. Disgust. Devastation. He loved me, and hated her.
Without looking at her, Steve leaned over and picked my empty body up in his arms and carried me to the bathtub. I saw the way his head hung in defeat, and knew that she would get away with murder. He ran water in the tub, warming it as if I were still alive and might get cold. He took a washrag and began to gently was the spatters of blood of my face.