They had been living together for a year when April called home from a pay phone. "Hey, Roger, it's me," her voice said on the answering machine. "I don't know where you went, but I'm on my way to the doctor's, to get the results from those tests a couple days ago. I'm sure it's nothing, probably the flu - stop being worried, seriously. I'll be home in an hour or so. Love you!"
What April wasn't expecting was to come home an hour and a half later, her eyes red and her face stained with tears, clutching a file of papers as she entered the empty apartment. She threw the folder bitterly onto the bed, several papers falling out. "Oh, Roger," she sobbed. She walked to the dresser, traced her fingers gently across the glass the covered the framed picture of the two of them on her birthday. Opening the top drawer, she moved aside random objects - wallets, dollar bills, photos - until she found a small, wrinkled scrap of paper. She grabbed a black fine-tip pen and impulsively ran into the bathroom. Tears streaming down her face, her hand quivered roughly as she managed to write 10 words - 'Roger - We've got AIDS. I love you. Love always, A.' Small teardrops landed on the paper, smearing the ink, but she didn't care. She stood in front of the sink, her hand clutched around the paper, looking for something she could use. Opening the mirror-cabinet, she found exactly what she had been looking for. The silver metal of the small scissors felt ice-cold in her hands. She couldn't stop shaking. There was no other option, she knew it - she would rather die than bring into the world a child with AIDS - a child with no chance of life. The one inside of her. Hesitating, she wrapped her forearm around her stomach. She closed her eyes, rocking herself gently back and forth, trying to get the courage to go through with this. "Oh, Roger, please understand," she thought aloud. She took a deep breath as she pressed the blade of the scissors to the vein on her wrist, harder and harder until the skin broke. She gasped in pain as she dragged it upwards, part of her thinking she was making a terrible mistake, and the other part knowing it was the right thing to do. Blood began to pour from her wrists as she switched hands. This time, she felt numbness. Like her insides had turned to a block of ice. She stood for a moment, feeling blood flow out of her body, and then collapsed to her knees, falling on the once-white tile floor that was now stained with red. "Roger, I love you," she whispered hoarsely, as her vision clouded and went black.
Roger entered the apartment, carrying a beer. "April?" he called. It usually wasn't this quiet. She'd have music on, or be playing with his guitar, or on the phone. He walked to the bathroom. The door was slightly ajar, so he pushed it open. His hand lost its grip on the glass bottle in his hand, and it shattered to the floor. A paper had fallen out of her hand, and as he sank to his knees, he read it. He felt his heart stop beating in his chest. "No, April, baby, no," he choked out as his eyes filled with tears. He knelt over her body, reaching awkwardly for her arm. "Oh, God, no, April, no." He wanted to stay with her, to hold her body, but instead he stood up and ran to the phone. He dialed 911, and hurriedly told the operator what had happened and the address. He slammed the phone into the cradle, and let himself break down. He walked to the bed, wanting to sit down, but there were papers that got in the way. He carefully picked them up, straightening them, and then saw something that caught his attention. "No," he said out loud. But there it was, in black and white - April, his April, was pregnant. He picked up the file as he walked back over to the phone, his hands shaking uncontrollably as he tried to recall Maureen's new number. She picked up after two rings. "Hello?" she said. "Maureen, it's Roger." There was silence. "April's dead. We have...I have. She had. AIDS. Maureen, she...she was pregnant. With my child." He heard Maureen begin to sob on the other end of the phone. "There's an ambulance on their way here now. I was wondering...I can't stay here. I won't stay here. Do you know anywhere I could...?" Maureen took a deep breath. She obviously didn't want him to hear her crying. "I live with Mark, my boyfriend - there's an extra room, if you're interested. It's a cheap apartment - he won't charge much." There was a knock on the door. "Maureen, the paramedics are here. I'll call you soon." He hung up, ran to the door, and opened it. The paramedics rushed in, carrying a stretcher, and Roger simply pointed to the open bathroom door. He couldn't go in there again. Tears rolled silently down his cheeks as he reread the note and the papers in the file. His April, his beloved April, was gone. As the paramedics carried out the stretcher, he managed to briefly touch her pale, lifeless cheek. He followed them outside and stared longingly at her body as the stretcher was put into an ambulance, and watched as it drove away. She was gone.