The house wasn’t the same to her. It would never be the same to her. I lied on the floor cold and tired. Too heavy to move on my own. She carried me as she walked through the house. Setting me down gently on couches and carpets as she cried. Her face became red and I felt her tears hit my cheek. She fiddled with the band on her finger and then with the one on mine. I couldn’t make myself look her in the eyes. I was so cold, I wanted to ask her for a blanket but I felt it to be rude. After all these years, I still felt bad for asking things of her. But this cold was starting to get unbearable, to the point where my arms almost felt numb. I wanted to embrace her, to feel her warmth once more, but I couldn’t bring it upon myself. I don’t think I love her anymore. But I bet she could say the same for me. She once more reached for my hand, gently placing her fingers around my ring, and slid it off. I wanted to object but my words got caught in my throat, and I stayed still and unmoving. She inspected it and looked mournfully into my eyes. I wanted to cry, I wanted to look away but I didn’t. I would have to face her eventually. After a week, she left. Left me behind and took everything with her. I was angry and disappointed. But I digress, and I moved on. Letting death consume me and letting her run.