Then, out of the darkness, Caitlyn appears by Nicole’s side, holding her hand. She smiles at me, her face angelic.

“Let go, Daddy,” she says. “And we can be a family, again.”

This is too far. He’s gone too far.

To be with Nicole again, is something that I would give almost anything for, but what keeps me from using that gun to end my life is Caitlyn. I could never leave her. Never. If I did make that terrible decision, whatever bridge I crossed, I know Nicole would be on the other side, and she would never forgive me for abandoning Caitlyn. I’ll never let anything happen to my daughter.

In a flash, I see everything—every memory I have of Caitlyn. I see Nicole telling me she’s pregnant. I see Caitlyn’s birth. I see us taking Caitlyn home from the hospital. I see Nicole and I watching Caitlyn take her first steps in the living room of our apartment in Portsmouth. I hear Caitlyn’s first words. I see her first day of kindergarten. The three of us celebrating birthdays. Every simple joy from making her breakfast, to kissing her good night, every night. All of it. Every moment of a love I didn’t know could exist until Nicole and Caitlyn were in my life.

Suddenly, the black void around me is filled with light. I feel warm.

I’m released.

I can breathe. I can see.

I’m in the hole, shovel in hand, and air filling my lungs.

He’s there, standing where I last saw him.

I can feel fear and uncertainty swirling around me, but they’re not mine.

They’re his. He’s afraid.

I pushed him out.

I regain my senses, slam the shovel back into the ground, lift the dirt out, and hurl it away.

Almost immediately, it’s back.

The previous roar, pain, and grip on my throat, are nothing compared to this. This is agony. This is desperation. This is Hell.

I’m going to vomit but can’t because my throat is clenched shut. Tears pour down my cheeks. I keep my eyes focused on the hole below me. I can see drops of spittle fall from my lips and coagulate in the dirt.

The swirling spots before my eyes explode into pinpoints of light.

I weakly push the shovel into the ground. It hits something. I’m too weak to lift the dirt away. The shovel drops from my hands.

The darkness is coming, rushing at me like a wall of black nothing.

With one last speck of consciousness, I swipe my foot across the point where the shovel made contact. My foot wipes away the dirt, and through the hot stinging tears, and dimming vision, I see them—bones, small and spindly. Some have been shattered by the shovel’s blade, but others are unmistakable. They’re small fingers.

Blinding light flies up from the hole.

Again, I’m released.