After that
Julian’s house is now mine. That’s what the will says.
In the evening, I walk past the bedside table, open the bottom drawer and look at the small glass bottle with the blue pills. There’s half left.
Sometimes my fingers flinch towards her.
A part of me wants to continue taking the pills – to keep alive his voice, his love for Catherine, even his anger.
Another part wants to pour them into the toilet and watch them dissolve.
So far I’m not doing either.
Because I realized something:
