As for me, I don’t know where I’ll go. I have to leave because if my body is found here, God knows what everyone will think of Andrew. I don’t want him or his reputation to suffer any more for me.

As I lose my mobility, I’ve begun to realize just what this deal means. There will soon come a time when I won’t be able to move, speak, see, feel… I’ll be bound to a skeleton, left alone somewhere far away from the house that catalogued our pain and sorrow, or lives and our deaths. I thought about burying myself with Andrew, but there was simply no way to do it.

I’m trying not to be afraid, but it’s so hard to conceive of those hours of darkness and loneliness, unbroken until his time runs out. All alone without my Andrew.

Fifty-one years, six months, seven days, two hours, and eleven minutes left to go.