Murder Mystery - H.S

33*

Harry.

I don't know what I was doing. What was I thinking? Maybe leaving Juliet, there wasn't the brightest idea, but I was angry.

I was unable to think. When I asked Juliet the question, a part of me wished her answer would be different and that she wouldn't look at me as some killer.

I didn't know how to explain myself or how to tell her what happened to me at such a young age. I didn't want her to look at me differently.

Juliet was quiet this time, as if I were a monster or as if she hated me for being unable to help Mariana. I'm sure she has a million things running through her head; she has her pains and sufferings.

Juliet doesn't need to carry mine or worry about mine. Think about me differently; I hated that. She tried to be gentle with me, which I hated. When she tried to protect me instead of me trying to protect her.

I was still so furious with myself for allowing myself to think about Ethan. Think about him. Think about the life I could've had with him if Mariana had never had a miscarriage.

I could've raised a son, loved him, and taken care of him till I was old and wrinkly. I had anger in me as well for hurting Juliet, even when I couldn't stop myself.

For making Juliet believe that I was using her for her body when in reality it was far from that. Ever since we have gotten somewhat close, I have always imagined things differently. Juliet has always been a beautiful woman, in my view, with her lovely brown eyes, her bouncy delicate curls, her full, pink lips that tipped up when she smiled, and her eyes that glittered with an indescribable brilliance.

I long to remember how she looked at me—or how she used to look at me. She didn't have any sparkle in her eyes today, nor did she have a smile on her lips; instead, she had a frown that persisted no matter what I said.

It felt like the spirit in her had died—like it was no longer there. Juliet looked disappointed with me, and if that were the case, I wouldn't be mad.

She had every right to hate me for treating her as though she were less valuable. Sometimes I can't help it, but other times I am afraid to let her get close to me.

letting her see the vulnerability in me like I've left her so many times. I've told her about the times when I was at my lowest and let her see me cry.

I saw no light in the tunnel; I don't even know how I got out of the depression I was in. How I managed to be good for my girls and how I managed to stay strong for them despite the heavy feeling in my heart

Knowing I would be alone—knowing I was going to raise my girl without a mother. I felt guilty since I had a chance to get her the help she needed but never did. And because of my stupid and reckless actions, the girls will suffer. They wouldn't feel the love a mother gives you.

If Mariana had been doing well herself, she would have made a good mother. She would, I'm sure. But she was suffering so much; she wanted to love her life; she wanted freedom. She saw her children as a burden rather than love. Mariana lost her first child, and she thought she was going to lose her second and third. She was still hurting from Ethan.

A child's loss is one that nobody ever recovers from. They mourn and heal in the best way possible. Knowing her son wasn't fortunate enough and that she couldn't love her son the way she wanted to love her daughters

Her daughters never got that love. I have tried to show them the love I promised Ethan. If I can't give it to Ethan, I'll give it to my girls, and if I have any other future kids, they as well,

Sometimes I just miss my old life with Mariana.

I miss the feeling of being in love with someone so much that nothing matters. Waking up to someone next to me telling me about their weird dreams, having someone who loved me and cared for me just as much.,