At first, she was so mad that she could noteven form coherent thoughts in her head. Her mind was just a swirlof red anger. She was angry with Peter for being a controllingbastard of a husband. She was angry with her mother for encouragingher to marry Peter in the first place, because she thoughtElizabeth would need to be taken care of. Mostly, she was mad atherself for never standing up for herself, for letting herself bepushed around, for caring what others thought. And as hot as heranger burned, it was not enough to keep her warm. Her hands wereburning with cold as were her feet. She wondered if she wasdeveloping frostbite. Vaguely, it occurred to her that people diedoutside in weather like this.
The thought of death should've scared her, butit didn't. It infused a calm of blues and purples in the swirl ofred in her mind. The pain her chest, which was her constant thesedays, abated. If she were dead, she would not have to deal with heruseless husband and she would no longer have to worry that theirmarriage might be over. She would not be poor and destitute ifPeter left. It would not matter that she had failed at marriage. Itwould not matter that she was unlovable. Elizabeth slowly unfoldedherself and rolled to her back. A dusting of snow and ice nowcovered the ground. The cold bit through her body and made herwince. Her knees were now exposed and probably bleeding from thefall. She was shivering uncontrollably, her body struggling to keepwarm. Her body was fighting, unaware that her spirit had given up.Elizabeth closed her eyes and relaxed into the snow. The snow wasstill falling, hitting her gently in the face. The snow fellquietly. Otherwise, there was no sound. Elizabeth was atpeace.
Death. In her death, she would not have toworry about packing up her house and moving when Peter officiallyleft her. She would not have to hear the whispers from the othermothers, from Nancy Beemer and the like, talking salaciously abouther marriage that had fallen apart. She could just let go and slipaway into the darkness and cold, and her mind would eventually stopracing with the thoughts of anxiety and worry. People would thinkthat this was an accident, a terrible one, and no one would realizethat she was a coward. There'd be hushed whispers certainly, but noone would speak ill of her. She had never before contemplatedsuicide. It seemed like such an easy solution. In the past, whenshe tried to picture the last moments of her life, they certainlyhad not looked like this. The few fleeting minutes she hadconsidered it, she'd always pictured herself an elderly woman,dying peacefully, surrounded by multiple generations of her family.The graceful matriarch, accomplished, successful and beloved byall. She had not pictured her life ending at the age ofthirty-four, alone and freezing to death. A total failure. But thisway, she would not have to face her failure. People tended not tospeak ill of the dead. Even the nasty mothers would talk about howhard she worked for her kids. And her worry would be gone. Shewould no longer lie awake worrying about what would happen to herchildren.
Her children.
Elizabeth's eyes flew open. Her chestconstricted. What would happen to her children? Who would raisethem? Her mother was not able to do so. She provided a house forElizabeth to grow in, but it was never really a home. Her motherwas ruled by her own paranoia and obsessions, her need for constantmicromanagement. She could not handle the kids for more than a fewdays. Hell, she couldn't even handle them for twenty-four hours.Elizabeth would never want her kids to go through what her motherhad put her through. Peter? He was out of the question. And whatwould it do to the kids, especially Sydney, to lose her? Whetherthey realized it or not, she was the center of their worlds, thegravity that held them in orbit. Elizabeth knew that she could notsuccumb to the temptation of peace through death. She could notwillingly do that to her children. She would fight her demons, asher mother was never able to do. She would stand up and continuewalking for her children. She would be their mother. After all, itwas the only thing left that defined her. It was her gravity aswell. Elizabeth sighed and slowly rose, her joints and body stiffwith cold. Her responsibilities, her burdens were so great that shecould not even die.
After walking for an undetermined period oftime (to Elizabeth it seemed like hours, but probably wasn't), shethought she saw light ahead. Finally, the house. It was set backfrom the road, up a steep driveway. Elizabeth was so cold.Everything was frozen, and she was not sure she could make it. Inher head, she gave an ironic laugh. Her face was too cold to move.Before, she had been willing to lie in the snow and die. But nowthat she had made up her mind to stay and fight, she would probablydie before she could be saved. Elizabeth tried to shuffle up to thehouse, noting the smell of a fireplace. She was so cold. She couldnot feel her hands or feet. As she continued to trudge, Elizabethbecame more and more despondent. She could not even shirk herresponsibilities to kill herself. She would be relegated to a lifeof misery to make sure that her children were okay. She doubted shewould ever experience happiness again. Maybe, someday, seeing hergrown children successful,
