They wouldn't let me keep his note.

"It's evidence," they told me, their voices mild, unmovable, and professional. Their reasons were as interchangeable as their faces, a blurred procession of dark suits and awkward manners. They sat on my couch, carefully not looking at the frayed edges, and shifted uncomfortably on the sagging cushions while they did their duty. "We need to analyze it." The words fell from their lips and hovered in the still air, each one a stone in the wall separating me from them. They continued to explain, each utterance chosen carefully, with the edges filed off so as not to wound. "That journal also contains the confession. We need to know if Kenneth was lying when he claimed it was a suicide pact."

Dulled edges could still bruise. I flinched at the word suicide, a shudder jerking through my body, pushing it deeper into the chair. Ken may have wielded the knife, but it was Gregory's choice. Shannon, Baby, I write this with a shaking hand. "We've provided you a copy of the message," he began gently, oh so gently, as if I would shatter at a harsh tone. I raised my head, fighting against gravity, and focused on him. He bit back the rest, white teeth clicking shut before the syllables could emerge. Perhaps he realized how little that meant, how little everything meant to me now, except for Gregory's words.

There was a desperate pleading look lurking behind his eyes, discernable only by contrast with his solemn demeanor. It occurred to me that he needed my support, and that this conversation was painful for him. My mouth curled up at the edges in a remembrance of a smile. I do not know what to do right now, but I am in utter agony and I know you would understand. "Can I have it after?" I asked, soft as mist. My voice was ragged from crying, from raging. I didn't understand - I refused to understand - how he could leave me.

"After, ma'am?" he echoed, cautious.

"Yes." My eyes closed, a slow motion blink, before meeting his gaze. I love you so much! I swallowed, attempting to dam the rising swell of my emotions. Sorrow and anger, regret and hate; they were all caught tangled up inside me, sharp-edged and hungry. I was never quite certain which one would surface if I let them out. I was never quite certain which one I wanted. I have barely eaten and drank since Wednesday evening. "After you're done dissecting it. After you've run every word, every declaration of love, through your experts. Drained every meaning from it." The anger was too hard to maintain, and I let it slip away. Nobody is coming to help. I should have known. I should have been there. I shouldn't have had to learn it from them.

He hesitated, a fleeting look of regret, before returning to duty. "There's still the trial," he stated, voice firm and steady.
The other agent leaned forward now, pale hands pressed against the briefcase full of lives that rested in his lap. "There's a chance that Mister Cooper, your fiancé, was murdered," he informed me, as if I cared about Justice when my Gregory was dead. "We owe it to him to find out the truth."

I knew Gregory's words were real. I knew it, despite the hurt, and I couldn't lie to myself. My gaze drifted away from the waiting agents. I noticed my thumb absently rubbing his ring and forced myself to be still. We had forever but now all we have is eternity. There was so much we never got to do. The season pass to the theatre his mother had given us that we had never used, unable to agree on plays, was now buried under six feet of estate paperwork. There was so much we had planned to do, but it was never the right time. He wanted me to toss his ashes off the Grand Canyon.
Eternally yours, Gregory William.

They wouldn't let me keep his note.

"Journal notes purportedly made by two friends who were lost while hiking in the New Mexico desert describe in detail how one killed the other before rescuers reached them. The diary ascribed to Raffi Kodikian and his friend who was killed, David Coughlin, also included farewell notes to friends and burial instructions, The Philadelphia Inquirer reported Monday."