Wife's Despair After Loss

"Based on the surveillance footage, it appears Miss Gilbert's death was a suicide."

Detective Kennedy sat with his hands clasped on the table, a serious expression on his face. "If everything looks right, Mr. Ross, please sign here."

A thick stack of reports detailing the incident lay before Damari Ross. The stark, monochrome text declared my death.

Damari barely glanced at the document, sitting in silence.

Detective Kennedy, sensing this might take some time, swallowed and continued, "Mr. Ross, if there are no issues, please sign. We will proceed to transfer Miss Gilbert to the mortuary."

Damari remained in his own world, disconnected from everything around him.

Just as Detective Kennedy braced himself for a long wait, Damari suddenly spoke, "Did she suffer?"

"Uh, well..."

Detective Kennedy was momentarily taken aback, not expecting Damari to break his silence with such a question.

But before he could respond, Damari let out a faint, bitter laugh, as if realizing the absurdity of his question.

His pale lips moved slightly, "Sorry, forget I asked."

Then, with a decisive gesture, he signed his name on the document, pressing the pen heavily enough that it seemed it might bleed through to the next page.

"Please follow me," Detective Kennedy said, opening the door.

Damari stood up, his long legs striding forward, resuming his role as the unflappable businessman.

In the narrow corridor, Detective Kennedy spoke cautiously, "Mr. Ross, I need to prepare you. Your wife, Miss Gilbert's body, is not in the best condition."

He lowered his voice, "She fell from a great height and there was an impact."

He paused, "You need to be ready for that."

Damari's only response was a quiet "hmm," without any further reaction.

Detective Kennedy glanced at Damari, sighing quietly, sensing he'd done all he could.

Once we arrived, they followed procedure and brought "me" out.

Damari gave a brief, detached glance before efficiently assisting the police in transferring my body to the mortuary.

Throughout, Detective Kennedy couldn't help but watch Damari.

After all, during his time on the scene, the sight had left him feeling incredibly nauseous.

My body was battered from the fall, limbs broken and lifelessly splayed out.

My head was misshapen, thick blood covered my face, soaking into my hair.

I was no longer recognizable as a person.

The fear of death is ingrained in human nature, and few could remain as composed as Damari when faced with a corpse.

When everything was settled, Damari stood in the shadows, hands in his pockets. "Can I leave now?"

Detective Kennedy nodded, stunned. Damari left without a backward glance.

It was as if I, Harlee Gilbert, meant nothing to him.