She sat there with the gun to her head; the muzzle of the Glock pistol to her temple. One little squeeze and it would be over . . . There would be no more pain. With luck, there would be nothing . . . just blissful darkness . . . no feelings. Just nothing . . . She didn't care if there was nothing after life, as if she were extinguished like a candle flame with the wick being pulled out to never be lit again.
It just didn't matter anymore. Nothing did. The pain she felt inside was just too great and she was so tired of fighting it. She was so tired of hanging on. Without her kids, there was no reason to go on either. She looked at a photo of them. As a mother she'd failed. As a person she'd failed. How many times had her mother drilled that into her? That she was a failure. That she was imperfect and she wasn't worthy of love if she weren't perfect.
Her Ex husband had been no better. Everything done was her fault. He had wanted her to commit suicide and now without her children . . . He'd killed them. He'd survived the car crash; the one he'd caused trying to kidnap them, but they hadn't.
Tears poured from her eyes. There was nothing left to hold her . . . nothing left of her.
Her finger slowly eased the trigger . . .
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