I was talking to Rose only last week. She’d moved out a decade ago, with Phil her partner. We’ve kept in touch on and off over that time. It was fine and frequent at first.
A couple of years ago she split with her bloke and, somewhat awkwardly, I starting receiving messages from HIM for six months, saying he just wanted to be somewhere in the sun. Nothing since. I swear I saw a photo of him last month – maybe one of hers? I guess he’s found his happiness somewhere.
Rose never mentioned him after the split, keeping to herself and to her photography, obsessing over it as usual. It was all she talked about before the end. Her work became bleaker and bleaker. Then she started fantasising killing herself, in clear-as-day detail.
Today she ended her life, exactly as planned, to the letter.