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    THE NEXT morning, after we returned to England, I awoke to an empty bed. Freddie wasn't beside me, which was odd considering the previous night when we came home we fucked. I got out of bed, taking one of Freddie's shirts and slipping it over my body.

  I walked into the living room, seeing the man of the hour sitting in the center seat of the sofa, staring blankly at the television which was on mute. It was playing some old-fashioned movie. I gently placed my hand on his shoulder; giving him a kiss on the cheek. He didn't even move.

Walking on the other side of the couch, I sat next to him, placing my hand on his leg. "Hey, babe." I muttered. "You doing okay?"

Freddie continued to stare. He didn't even look at me.

"Max is dead." he said finally. My heart stopped.

"What are you talking about?" I asked, completely in denial. It's one of the stages of grief.

Freddie sighed, looking down. "Max is dead, Amelia." he then grabbed the remote and turned up the volume; not saying another word.

I didn't know what to do or say. I just sat there, hoping that Freddie would come out of this odd spell and we'd be happy. But the truth is, we weren't.

Max was dead. And there was nothing that we could do or say that would bring him back to life. . .

..

      I tried giving him food, I tried holding him, but with every attempt I made with Freddie, he was emotionless. Cold. It was hard for me to know what he needed. All he did was just stare at the wall.

"I'm here for you, okay?" I said, placing my hand on his shoulder. I really hoped that I would get some of the man I used to know.

He nodded, then took a sip of the water I just gave him. "Just let me be for a while. I don't want to talk to anybody. Not even you."

My heart skipped a beat in shock. I shouldn't have taken it to heart, but it was hard. I wanted to be there for him but all he would do is shut me out.

Being the understanding woman I knew I could be, I nodded, then grabbed my coat and walked out.

As much as I hated doing it, I knew that I had to.

...

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