The paramedic can’t see him standing behind her in the ambulance.
Each time she leans forward to check my pulse he swims into view, smiling that dopey smile, his head tilted to one side.
“There there, love. It’s not so bad, death. You’ve had a good innings and the children don’t need you any more. We’ll be together again soon. Think of that!”
Two years free of him. Is that all I’m to have? And will the last emotion I feel in this life be irritation, and not the peace that I crave?
The paramedic catches my eye, sees the horror there, assumes I fear death, fear the nothingness.