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The Note

"I told you what?" My mind is blank, save for the word. Pregnant.

Cal's face is a mixture of emotion. "Yeah."

I sit in silence for a few minutes. There is no way, no way, I was pregnant.

"You were." I hadn't realized I'd spoken. "I saw the test." Everything feels too heavy. The air hanging between us, my arms, my heart. "You said you had made an appointment for Tuesday to confirm. When you went, they said that it was not a viable pregnancy. "

My note. I'd all but forgotten about it. "Do you still have it?" The words sound as if they're coming from someone else.

"Yeah. I read it almost every night before I'd fall asleep." I can't control my face fast enough. I feel it twist into a sneer as I think of Cal and Amelia doing the horizontal tango before I was even cold. Cal sees the look on my face before I can fix it. "I told you, Eden. That wasn't what you think it was. I still loved you." Past tense again. Ouch.

"Can I read it?" I want to fight with him, tell him that if he really loved me, he wouldn't have hopped in bed with her, but reading my suicide note is my first priority. We have other nights to argue.

"Yeah." He walks out of the kitchen. I don't follow him. I'm still more than a little shell-shocked. Time has slowed. It feels like an hour passes before he comes back in the room and hands me a folded piece of paper. I glance at the clock. He was only gone for two and a half minutes.

The paper is cream colored and thick, and very familiar. It's from the hardback journal I keep in the nightstand. Not that I ever really wrote anything of significance in it; it's mostly grocery lists, bucket list goals, and boredom doodles. I pause before I unfold it, and my finger traces the hard edge of the note. "Did I really write this?" I ask Cal without looking at him. My voice is barely above a whisper.

He sighs. "I wish I could tell you no. But see for yourself. It's in your writing."

My eyes burn with tears I can't cry. I unfold the paper, while Cal keeps a vigilant watch from across the island. I scan the page before actually reading the note. It does look like my handwriting at first glance, but I can't remember ever pressing so hard my words were practically embossed on the paper. The ink is smeared in places, either from my tears or Cal's, but the words are still legible.

Callum, my love:
I assume you will be the first to find me like this, and for that, I am eternally sorry. I want you to know you did nothing to cause this. You have always been so perfect, and I know you will go on to do such great things.

I pause and raise an eyebrow, but somehow manage to keep my thoughts to myself.

Please look after Mama and Daddy for me. I know they will be so upset, and probably more than a little embarassed. I just can't do this life anymore. I have simply lost my will to live, and I know that if I had told you this, you'd just try to make it better like you always do. But you couldn't have, no one could have, and I don't want you to beat yourself up for it. I have never deserved you, and here you are yet again cleaning up my mess. I hope you know that I loved you, in this lifetime and in every one before and after.

I read the note three times before I drop the page like it's on fire. It floats to the counter as I look at Callum. His blue eyes burn into mine. I know he is waiting for an answer, a reaction, something, but I am on autopilot. At least outwardly. Internally, I'm very close to being hysterical. Grief, shock, denial; it's the same as the day when I woke up six feet under. Oh, and anger. Bordering on flat out rage. My nails bruise my palms.

"I didn't write this."