"Here Lies a Doctor, Husband, and Father" read the epitaph.
Staring at the cold stone, tears flowed down her cheeks. A two year old girl clung to the sad woman. Too young to understand, Sheryl Watson wandered around the gravesites. Devastated, Mary dropped to her knees and wailed: sobbing harder than she ever has. The heartbreak was so incredibly difficult to bear.
It had been exactly two months since he has been gone. During that time, Mary became addicted to alcohol and drugs. It was nearing the end for Mrs. Watson. Reaching into her bag, Mary took out a water bottle and an orange bottle. The pills looked deadly enough. Sheryl was sun tanning underneath a weeping willow a few feet away. Mary opened her mouth and placed the pills on her tongue. With a swig of water, Mary cried. Her eyeliner and mascara melted down her cheeks. Softly, Mary kissed her hand and touched John Watson's grave. One. Two. Three. Mary looked at the world with one last blink and faded away to a different place. A place full of laughter and joy. Another land far, far away from London. Far way from England. It's farther away than over the rainbow. Birds sing and butterflies fly in this land.
Quickly, Sheryl ran over to her Mary's lifeless body. Hugging her body, the little girl cried. Her mother and father were gone. Where was she to go?
The End.