I had never known she loved me. Not once did I suspect it. Perhaps to the eye that is not blinded by revenge and justice, love and hate, and a suicidal load of self-hatred, it is obvious that she was in love with me.

Through all the blood we spilled, we developed a sacred bond of trust that I had never felt before, even when I was married to my darling Lucy. I had trusted Lucy, without a doubt, but it was the artificial trust that comes quite naturally through marriage, intercourse, and raising a child. However, with Mrs. Lovett's and my trust, it had to be earned. It had to be built and defined. Our trust grew to be a wall that defied any foe, whether that is the Judge, the Beadle, Pirelli, our customers and our products… or myself.

That trust was broken when I discovered her one lie. Lucy did survive her suicide attempt.

Now, I kneel at my Lucy's body. As the demon that I have become, I critique her body. I recall the one photograph I have of my Lucy and I compare it to the dead thing in front of me. There is an unnatural ripple of skin on her forehead, a few boils surrounding her lips, and her frame is somehow wider and thinner at the same time. Her hair is even different. In the photograph, Lucy's hair was an object where you buried your face in, to dry your tears, and to remind you of happy times. Now it is dry and wild.

I hear Mrs. Lovett's babbling; that she laid in bed for months and she should have went to the hospital but went to Bedlam instead. Bedlam. Such a fragile woman should never go to a dangerous place where the mad go madder and the sane surrender to the unforgiveable darkness of insanity.

My own voice, husky from disuse, repeats my wife's name over and over, and I tell my dead wife, the one woman that I killed, that I have come home again.

Home is where you are greeted with welcome arms. But Lucy was not there. Mrs. Lovett welcomed me with an embrace, razors, and gin. Such a kind woman, Mrs. Lovett is. She is a bloody wonder.

Then my landlady, my partner in crime, my friend, and my secret love says the most sacred of words: I love you.

I hate how those words make me so weak. I make face and keep my face stoic as always. She can never see how her words have bewitched me, body and soul. I wan to taste her mouth and to touch the redness in her hair. I love her, I love her! I want to proclaim to the angels and have them sing in exultation! I have found my salvation!

I swing around to glance at my now frightened love. She cowers in the corner; she sees the madness in my eyes. Love has driven me mad! She has, she has, not Lucy dying, she has! Natural words pour from my tongue, I have no idea what I am saying, but they are so true. Mrs. Lovett offers marriage, and I do not reply. Marriage is too sacred for a monster such as myself.

I dance with her around the room. I think of how we searched for Toby less than an hour ago. He will run to the authorities, not to reveal her crimes, but my own. The police will link her to my murders, and she will suffer as well. We will die at the gallows. It is a shameful death.

I still do not trust Mrs. Lovett. Our trust is gone. It cannot be built, which, like I said, is the strongest. It will be strained and tested and forced because of our love. The prospect is enough to make me shudder. I want to trust her irrevocably again, but what else has she lied to me about?

I see Toby, hiding beneath the floor. He thinks that my gaze is not upon him, but it is. He is glaring viciously. He wants to kill me. I do not blame him.

Eureka, my own eureka moment! Mrs. Lovett's moment of cleverness came to her as baking the people into the pies, but now is my time to be practical!

I toss her into the oven. It is painful to hear her screams and to see her beautiful flesh turn ashen. I watch her burn and I frown at how she must think I hate her. I close the door and walk back to my dead wife after I drop my razor. I shall never need it anymore. I cradle Lucy in my arms and I remind her of our tragic story. I wait for Toby. I wait for him to find the razor. I wait for him to end my worthless life.

Now Mrs. Lovett and I can build our trust again. We can spend an eternity of time together, loving each other, in the fiery pits of hell.