In the final 12 hours before he and I split our lives for forever, I choose to build a shelf to go in the bedroom. I rub my hands on the hilt of the hammer, the shelf is haphazard and it's reflective of my mood. I'm not doing it well, I'm just doing it. I lift it to the wall and I realize it's a two person task and I bite my tongue and my tears back, knowing that I signed myself up to do all tasks as a single person moving forward. And I feel jilted by this stupid IKEA drawer I cannot mount on the wall by myself. I lay it on the ground and I can feel him standing at the doorway. There's an awkward stillness in the air, and despite me still rummaging around picking up foam, plastic, and broken bits of cardboard, it feels so silent in my head and heart. He sits down against the wall and watches me and I'm overcome with pressure in my head, trying to contain all my tears and emotions with just the strength of my physical body. It's harder than you think.

I can't face him, but I know he wants to spend the remaining hours in reflection, or even reverence of what once was before it becomes nothing between us. I also slump to the ground but in the middle of the room in fetal position. We aren't comfort to one another anymore, we're a source of pain until we heal on our own.