I can’t believe what I’m seeing. He swore to me he would never do anything like that again. Yet here he is, kissing another woman. Breaking his marriage vows for a second time.

Not that I’m surprised. I mean, that’s why I got the binoculars.

It’s a little different this time. They’re not making out like he was with Christina. He kisses her, then he jumps up off the bed. He’s gesturing with his arms. Then he looks out the window.

Shit. He sees me.

I lower the binoculars and throw them onto the bed. Did he see the binoculars? I’m not sure about that. I hope not.

Even without the binoculars, I can see him exit the other woman’s room. Probably coming over here to grovel. Again. I have to put those binoculars away quickly, before he spots them. Then I have to decide if I’ll forgive him. I probably will. It gets easier each time, and I have to admit, I don’t know what I would do without him. Even more than two years ago, Nick has become my caregiver. That is the crux of our relationship now. We are not husband and wife anymore, only caregiver and patient.

Also, I don’t want things to end up like last time. As much as I want to wrap my fingers around this woman’s pretty little neck, I don’t want to see her stabbed to death. I know what my husband is capable of now. I can’t let it happen again.

Unfortunately, when I tossed the binoculars onto the bed, they went all the way across the bed and rolled off the other side. So I can’t just grab them and throw them into the drawer. There isn’t much time either.

I push back on the wheels of my chair, backing away from the bed. The bedroom isn’t all that big, and it’s hard to maneuver. I end up having to do the equivalent of a five point turn to get out of the space between the bed and the wall. By the time I’ve freed myself, I can hear Nick’s footsteps on our stairs.

He’s in the house. He’ll be in the bedroom any second.

I make one last ditch effort to get to the binoculars, but it’s too late. He bursts into the room, his face red, his short dark blond hair messy from the wind.

“Rosie,” he gasps. “That was… I didn’t…”

I fold my arms across my chest. “That wasn’t you kissing her?”

“She kissed me.”

“And I’m sure you did nothing at all to lead her on.”

“I didn’t! Rosie, you have to believe me…” He trails off as his eyes land on the binoculars on the floor. My heart is thudding as he bends down to pick them up, a baffled expression on his face. “What the fuck is this?”

I don’t know what to say.

“Are you spying on me?” He shakes the binoculars. “With binoculars? Seriously?”

“Do you blame me? Look at what I caught you doing.”

I expect him to protest again, but instead, his shoulders sag and he tosses the binoculars on the bed. “You know what? I can’t do this anymore.”

“Do what?”

“I love you, Rosie,” he says softly. “But you don’t trust me anymore. You won’t leave the room or have a conversation with me. You don’t even let me touch you unless I’m helping you. I tried—I really did. But it’s obvious you don’t want me here anymore. And I… I’m not sure I want to be here anymore.”

I stare up at him. I can see in his brown eyes that he means it. I finally pushed him too far. He’s done. “I see.”

“We’re both miserable,” he says. The understatement of the century. “I think it’s time to call it quits.”

I had thought my life was as awful as it could possibly be, but at the moment, my heart rips in two. “I agree.”

“I mean, do you even still love me anymore?”

I look up at his face. He’s still the same guy who tripped over his own feet while running track in high school because he couldn’t stop staring at me. The same guy who bought me a restaurant so that I could have my dream. We’ve been together for eighteen years, and all but the last five were so happy. Maybe we used up all our happiness. Maybe everybody only gets so much.

Do I still love him? Of course I do. He’s the only man I ever loved. The only man I ever will love. But he has a chance to be happy again. I don’t.

“No,” I say. “I don’t.”

He looks like he’s about to break down, but to his credit, he keeps it together. He always does. “Fine,” he says. “I’ll move out.”

“Fine.” I feel oddly calm about the fact that the love of my life is walking out on me. “You should sell this house. I’ll go stay with my parents.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

Now that we have each reassured each other that everything is fine four times, he turns and leaves the bedroom. I watch him go. The ache in my chest is so painful, I want to scream. Please don’t go, Nick! I love you! How could you ever think otherwise?

But that would be wrong. The right thing is to let him go. I take out my phone. I type into the search engine:

easiest way to commit suicide.