Through the doorframe, I could see him sitting on the bathroom floor. Curled up against the wall, hugging his knees.
I approached him and noticed the burnt up cigarettes on the floor. He had smoked at least a package and the smell still lingered, even with the window open.
I sat down next to him and he looked up. His bloodshot eyes met mine and they filled with tears, slowly running down the trail that had been left from previous crying. I didn’t know what to say, or even if I should say something.
Red lipstick and a perfume bottle still lay on the sink, a pink robe smelling of lavender still hung on one of the hooks. Her diary still remains on the bedside table in their bedroom and her dirty clothes still lay in their laundry basket. She had been there that morning, but suddenly she wasn’t anymore.
I noticed that he clenched something in his fists and put my hands on his white knuckles. Slowly they loosened their grip and crumpled up hundred dollar bills fell to the floor.
It was at least a thousand dollars but he didn’t know what to do with it. And he always knew what to do.
But now he didn’t. He had no idea who he could pay or who he could bribe to get what he wanted. Because truthfully, there was no one who could help him, no matter how much money he had.