• I sat on the tattered arm-chair in the middle of my somber, squalid apartment as I firmly hold my china tea cup with my coarse hands. I tried to allow myself to drink the herbal tea, but soundly put it down on the broken, grey coffee table next to me. I do not dare take a sip as the tears heavily flowing from my sore and achy face would make the tea taste salty. I tucked my unsightly, swarthy hair behind my ears, and I started to reminisce, as I usually did, about that day. It was only five years ago. It was then that I lost my son; and my husband soon followed. I could remember it all as it was happening at this very moment. I came home from work, upset and agitated that I didn’t get that promotion, dragged my joyless self upstairs to tell him I was home, and there he was…….hovering over a shrieking chair and his throat wrung by his own volition. It was only a few months later until the love of my life, my husband, convinced me it was my fault, and without a note, a call, a divorce paper; he left, never to return. So now I sit here alone and secluded, as I cut my ties to the outside world long ago, and I will forever mourn over the loss of my son, because conclusively it was something I did.