It turned out that Klaus was so glad he hadn't turned Violet away from his bed that night, Sunny's last night at the house, because it was the last time they made love. It was such a precious, tiny moment of time that would stay bright in his memory for many years to come. After she'd fallen asleep he replayed it all over and over again in his mind so that he would always be able to remember her scent, the feel of her skin and her mouth, the sound of her voice when she'd confessed her love, the electric tingle that ran over his spine and made his toes curl in pleasure when his body finally surrendered to hers.

Because, the next morning Violet was unwell. She moved around the kitchen carefully, but tried to be upbeat for Sunny, tried to force a little food down at breakfast, only to throw it up immediately. Klaus administered her pills to her, but they didn't do the trick. When it was time to take Sunny back to the airport, it became all too clear that Violet would not be able to accompany them. What a difference two days makes.

It was a tearful goodbye on Sunny's part. She'd kept it together in front of Violet. The young woman had sat close to Violet all morning, kept her hand enveloped in Violet's cool one, kissed her cheek a hundred times. But when Klaus pulled Sunny's small suitcase from the trunk of the car at the airport, she fell into his arms and sobbed. "I'll never see her again, will I?"

Klaus kissed the top of her head. "She wants you to concentrate on your studies. She wants you to be happy. I'm glad you came when you did," and he said this honestly, because even though the younger siblings had muddled things up a bit between them, Violet had loved having them all together. He had loved having them all together. One last time.

"You say that like I can just forget what's going here. I feel so bad for her. What are we going to do without her?"

"I don't know."

Over the next few days, Klaus realized he was in way over his head, so Bodhi was called in. Violet couldn't keep anything down at this point and alternated between sleeping and throwing up. As soon as it seemed like a medication might take care of her symptoms she would start again.

Another two days and Violet became so weak from dehydration and pain that she had to be carried into the bathroom and her urine had become dark and concentrated. She'd eaten nothing in days, but continued to retch up yellow bile. Bodhi was coming to visit daily and decided to put in a catheter to drain Violet's bladder and an IV to get her pain medication into her more efficiently. She became too lethargic to press the button that would give her a tiny maintenance dose of morphine every twenty minutes but Klaus made sure to press it for her.

A long, grueling week after that, one where he was forced to watch her body wither away until it was mostly bones jutting from her skin, one where she couldn't even open her eyes, and when she did try to speak it was mostly nonsense, she became unresponsive. Her breaths were wrenched from her lungs intermittently and Klaus found himself holding his breath along with her. For every minute he spent cursing God for this predicament, Klaus spent twice as long praying to him, pleading with him, to either heal her or to take her already.

Bodhi spent most of his time there with Klaus and Violet. Klaus didn't know what happened with his other patients or if he had a family, and was too grateful for his steady presence to remind him that he might have other people to look after besides the Baudelaires. When it became apparent that Violet might not even have a few hours left, Bodhi carefully took out the IV and the catheter. He washed her with warm water and a soft cloth, dressed her in a warm nightgown and left Klaus alone with Violet for the end.

Klaus climbed into the bed with her, wrapping his arm around her cool, rigid body and counted her breaths. Her heartbeat slowed and then it was over. He'd counted two hundred and nineteen breaths. He kept waiting for two hundred and twenty, but it never came. Realization washed over him and he just curled himself around her, kissed her cheek and cried, "Thank God," because he was so grateful it was over. All the pain and the dread and the waiting was done. She would never hurt again and he was so relieved by this thought that he found he could again breathe at his own pace. She was dead and gone to that same mysterious place his parents and so many of their friends now inhabited. At least she would not be alone there.

There were phone calls to make. There was a funeral and then it was back to work, where he was expected to act like his heart hadn't just been cut out of his chest, but time flies and soon it was Christmas. Sunny didn't come home that year, opting to stay at college and spend the holiday with some friends, and Klaus wondered if Christmas would ever be a happy time again?

Isadora, along with her brothers had attended Violet's funeral, and she had stayed long after the service to help with the clean up, speaking quietly to Sunny in the other room while he washed dishes. While Klaus was reserved with his wife, he'd been ultimately reassured to see her. They'd never been apart for so long in their decade of marriage. Her familiar presence had dispelled his sense of having lost his way, like he'd been going round in circles, adrift at sea, a caregiver without someone to care for. Isadora had offered him a truce, not a divorce, and they saw each other often, but neither had decided what the future would hold for them. Klaus had decided that maybe he didn't want children and this seemed to be a bit of a dealbreaker for Isadora.

All in all, Klaus got out of bed everyday, took a shower, ate food, and went to work, all the while aware of how much he'd changed in the last year. He felt unknown and uncertain, like his true identity had died along with his sister, like she was the only one who'd ever really known him. Now, after a long day of trying to be himself, or at least trying to be how others expected him to be, he would lay in bed and unwrap a memory, a happy one, not an unfortunate one, and remember who he used to be when he still had Violet to love. There were sunny days on the beach, of course, and there were experiments and research done as partners. There was laughter and food and family. And if he really wanted to torture himself, there were entwined hands, entangled legs and soft, warm lips.

On Violet's birthday, Klaus called in sick to work and bought a bottle of the hard stuff. He was well into his third glass when there was a knock at the door, and he made his way blearily through his small apartment to open it. Isadora stood there. "Can I come in?" Stepping away from the door, he let it swing wide, and plopped himself back on the couch.

She sat right next to him, put her arm around him and pulled him to her chest like he was a small child. It felt so good to be comforted and later, he blamed the alcohol for lowering his defenses, he cried. Sometimes he thought a grown man should never have to cry this much. Another drink in and Sunny was also there, comforting and being comforted. And deep down he knew it, not that it always felt like it, but he knew it. He knew that just because Violet was gone, it didn't mean that he was alone. He didn't have to be alone. There were people that he loved and that loved him in return. If Violet was love, then she had surely imparted some of that on him, hadn't she? He had many regrets, but Violet was never one of them. He'd come to the conclusion, even through all the pain and grief and unfortunate circumstances that had dotted his existence on this earth, that he still considered himself one of the lucky ones. He'd had someone as wonderful as Violet in his life. It was too short, to be sure. If it were up to him, he would have chosen to have a hundred years with her, but he was ultimately grateful for what he'd been given. Klaus knew this to be truth, his truth: "The risk of love is loss, and the price of loss is grief - But the pain of grief is only a shadow when compared with the pain of never risking love."

The End

Quote by Hilary Stanton Zunin