Steven Taylor dropped his keys onto the small, walnut table just inside his front door. He glanced around the living room, watching as the last rays of the early summer sun drifted through his living room window, attempting to break the darkness that had settled throughout the house. He tilted his head, listening for the sounds of his fiancé and young son. Silence greeted him. "Emma?" he called out. "Shaun?" How odd, he thought. He crossed the room slowly and went into the kitchen. More silence. Flicking on the light switch, he quickly spotted the note stuck under a ladybug shaped refrigerator magnet.

Steven smiled. Mind? Of course not. Shaun loved being with Maggie and if that gave him some desperately needed free time with Emma, well...

Humming softly to himself, Steven made his way up the stairs. He paused in the doorway of his bedroom and gave a quiet laugh. Emma had fallen asleep waiting for him. The book she'd been reading lay open next to her, partially covering her right hand. Soft music emanated from the CD radio that sat on the nightstand next to the bed. Two glasses sat next to a bottle of port wine. Another note lay next to the glasses. As Steven picked it up, his smile faded into a look of confusion.

Steven dropped the note back onto the nightstand and looked closer at Emma's sleeping form. Strands of her long black hair gently strayed against her cheeks. Steven reached out tentatively, pushing the hair away from his fiancé's face. "Emma?" he whispered. She looked so peaceful. Too peaceful. Fear began to settle into his stomach. Not again, he thought. Dear Lord, please don't let this be happening again. He moved his fingers down her jaw line and onto her neck. No movement. Nothing. Not even a faint trace of a pulse.

"No!" he whispered. This isn't real. It's a joke. It's a sick joke. Any moment she's going to open her eyes and laugh at me for falling for it. Glancing back at the nightstand, he noted that the wine bottle had been opened and was partially empty. He moved the book she'd been reading and knew at that moment that this was real. Clasped in her fingers was a small pharmaceutical bottle. He shifted the bottle in her grasp. Xanax. She’d used his prescription.