At first I was horrified when my girlfriend killed herself (And then I found her photo collection)

At first I was horrified when my girlfriend killed herself: “We haven’t seen her” was the usual, recurrent mantra of the day and my head was flooded with fear and drastic thoughts. My hands trembled as I worked out a note in chicken-scratch to the boss man, a quick and open-ended, “I will be back in tomorrow – emergency” not even knowing if this was the case. But when a routine goes incomplete for a day, things feel off-balance, things don’t feel so right anymore.

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Cate and I had been dating for four years at that point and we had each other memorized down pat. Our worlds collided in the most beautiful of ways and we fused like some mesmerizing statue, like ‘The Kiss’ by Roden, two embraced lovers who lived for one another and breathed life into another’s lungs. And not only that, but Cate was beautiful inside and out – everything I had ever yearned for, and higher than my expectations.

Everybody said that our relationship was alluring and compelling but, most of all, we were addicted to each other like some drug. Cate held a stay-at-home freelancing job as a writer while I sat high in my fifteen-story office and managed a team of imbeciles who tried to sell their horrid ideas to others. I was a businessman and she was an artist, morphing characters from scratch and twisting them into amazing plots and story lines. I could sit for hours reading what she wrote, when I found the time after a long day. We grew so close that our schedules were like clockwork to one another – we woke up together in our apartment, I went to work, she went to work one hour later, and we chatted on break.

I always snuck my first text to her at 9:00 in the morning before our 12:00 phone call on break. She always answered right away to tell me the day’s assignment and rate it 1-10 on a scale of absolutely terrible to horrendously awesome.