She could not get out of bed for five days. She felt so tired and the thought of getting up was just too much to bear. When the five days passed, she found herself wide awake, staring at the ceiling.
Her husband was still at work. She wanted to get pretty for him, but all she was able to do was sit in front of her laptop. She spent the next few hours like that, reading Facebook updates and scrolling down pages of funny pictures, only she did not laugh.
She imagined a thousand scenarios of her husband getting home. Several of them involved insane passion and wild sex, in others she gave him the cold shoulder, and then there were those that ended in blinding rage and screaming. She imagined him coming back with another woman, or coming back to declare he was leaving, or not coming back at all. In one, she made him orgasm and then killed him with a kitchen knife.
It was getting dark outside. She wanted to get back into bed, but could not find the strength, so she just sat there.
The sun was beginning to rise again when she realized why she spiraled into depression in the first place. Her husband was dead.