"I was six months pregnant and stuck in a city I didn't understand - and I did mean stuck. Tom did his best, we both knew that, but he said it wasn't safe for me to go wandering around and I listened to him. Instead, I floated around our flat and learned housekeeping the hard way. It was a good life, except that I was all emotional and a general disaster. It wasn't going to end well, we both knew that, but we tried.
"So one night Tom was supposed to get home about three hours earlier than he did. I lived for the moments we were together, as rare as they'd become, and he'd told me he was going to be back earlier than usual. Instead, later, late enough that I was a worrying wreck by the time he turned up. Well, did I have words for him! He tried to apologize, same as any rational man might, but I wasn't having any of that. I'd spent two hours convinced he was dead in an alley someplace, and 'sorry' was not enough. Of course, he didn't get it. Why would he? Like my mother always said, emotions are primarily carried in the female line.
"We fought for a little while, which was strange because usually I caved in and understood what he'd meant to do. Well, not this night. Eventually I started threatening him - never mind that I'd never used a gun before in my life. We had a pistol underneath a couch in our flat, and after a while I pulled it out and pointed it at him. He said I wouldn't do it, but I closed my eyes and waited for the sound. Funny how that changes you. As soon as I knew I'd done it, I panicked. I'd figured I'd get lucky and end up shooting that awful vase Edith gave us as a wedding present, not shooting... him.
"Oh, I panicked. I ran the couple of feet over to where he was and I kissed the spot where the bullet had made impact and I put the gun in his hands as if he'd done himself in. I nearly convinced the police as much, except that our next-door neighbor had heard us fighting and knew better. I didn't mean to do it, though. I loved him. I still love him."