She looks down. Down at his still, lifeless body. A gentle breeze blows her hair, ever so slightly, enough to see the pain pouring down her face. She falls to her knees, to his side. A shaky hand reaches out, wanting to caress his still warm face, instead it consoles her broken heart. She holds herself, falling to pieces and closes her eyes.

She opens her eyes. It's morning, 6am. The sun starting to peak through the blinds.

"I can't keep doing this," she thought to herself. She wipes the tears from her face, breathes deeply, rolls to her side. She watches his chest rise and fall, each breath deep and peaceful. The dream had not disturbed him.

The decision is made. She collects her clothes and a small box from the bedside table, filled with meaningless items to anyone else. She looks down, at his still, sleeping body, one last time before she turns and walks away, one last time. She can't lose him again, not one more time. She dies each time, awakens to know it will happen and she can't keep going.

To not lose him, she lets him go. It breaks her heart, tears her up inside, but she is comforted knowing that he will never be taken from her again.