It started out like any other day. I woke up just before the alarm, turned it off so as not to wake my husband. Hauled myself out of bed, put on my faded bunny slippers and padded to the bathroom.
My business there taken care of, I proceeded to the kitchen, put on water, ground beans for my coffee, did my usual calf-firming toe raises, balancing myself at the window sill (grey day, bone-wrenching cold), while I waited for the water to boil. Then: Screeching tea kettle, phone jangling all at once.
That was the call that ultimately ended my life.