Distant sirens woke me from my sleep. I hoped everyone was alright. Lights and sounds of emergency vehicles always make me say a small prayer for whoever is in need.

That morning I had a splitting headache and my mind was fuzzy. Exhausted, the days were all running together. I hadn’t had a day off of work in nearly three months. Sleeping pills were required just to get a few hours of sleep. I was a mess.

Stress was high and business was down. Laying off half my staff was required to keep my store from going under. Even with the cutbacks and my double shifts, I knew it wouldn’t survive the winter of 2001. 80% of my sales were normally from the snowbirds who visited Phoenix in the winter. After the recent 9/11 disaster, the desert was truly drying up for me and my family. I didn’t know where to turn. I felt trapped.

No time to complain, need to get to work, I thought to myself.

Light penetrated our thin shades and warmed the bedroom of our dream home. We had worked all our lives for this house and gave it every cent we had. Now, after two short years, it looks like we’ll be foreclosing on it.

I should close the drapes so Kara can sleep in.

Rolling out of bed, my back cracked and I flinched from sensitive ribs. Unbuttoning my light blue night shirt, I pulled the right side open to find dark bruises under my arm and across my chest. What the hell happened?

Softly poking the tender skin, I could see blood stains on my sleeve.

I quickly stood up and removed my shirt completely, in spite of my body’s protest as it jolted me with violent stabs of pain. Bruises and cuts covered my left arm. My shirt now lay on the floor, ripped and coated in red.

Confused, I peered up to see that the room had been ransacked, lamps broken and drawers pulled out. Were we robbed? Was I knocked unconscious?

I turned to my wife. Her body was flung across her side of the bed, her nightgown torn and her head broken open, exposing the brain inside. No, this can’t be happening. Please god, NO!

Broken glass coated the floor and pierced the bottoms of my feet as I rushed to the bathroom. Knees hitting the cold tile floor, I heaved up last night’s dinner into the toilet, acid burning my throat with each wave. Why? Why?

I sobbed as I stumbled my way back up onto my feet at the sink, noticing the pills I had taken the night before. The prescription wasn’t mine, they were Kara’s valium.

Instead of my own face in the mirror, the mug of a murderer stared back at me. Tainted with blood and claw marks from my wife, the monster of the man in the mirror had destroyed my life. “Dear god, what have I done?”

Sirens were not so distant, anymore.