Bitter

K.K.

Bitter

01/28/2026

It was a warm and beautiful spring Sunday morning. Rose awoke to the birds singing and the sun shining in her face. She decided to stay in bed a bit longer and watched her husband, Joe, still fast asleep. Rose loved Joe more than life itself. Her heart still fluttered when he looked at her. The two were high school sweethearts. Joe was on the football team, and Rose was a cheerleader. They met at a game and quickly knew, at the tender age of sixteen, that they would spend the rest of their lives together.

They married at eighteen and had been inseparable ever since. Joe and Rose had four children—two boys and two girls—all of whom lived in different parts of the country. They hardly spoke to their children anymore, each of them now wrapped up in busy lives and families of their own. Still, Rose and Joe had each other, which made the empty nest not so unbearable.

Rose lay there, looking at Joe with a smile and a tear in her eye, knowing today was the day. Today was the day Rose would end Joe’s life.

She quietly rose from the bed so as not to wake him and made her way to the bathroom to gussy herself up. Rose figured that looking her best was the least she could do for her poor husband on his final day. She gently closed the bathroom door as Joe let out a loud snore and began turning herself into a beauty queen. She decided on an updo, even though she hated it, because Joe always said that was when she looked her prettiest.

Finished with her glamor, Rose slowly opened the bathroom door and made her way to Joe’s side of the bed.

“Darling, wake up,” she whispered as she gently nudged his shoulder. “It’s almost noon.”

Joe woke with a smile on his face.

“Well, I didn’t know I was going to be woken up by a movie star,” he said with a wink. “What are you all dressed up for?”

Rose hesitated before answering. “I figured we could go to church, if you’re up for it. No pressure.”

“Eh! I’ll think about it!” Joe blurted out with a laugh.

Rose helped Joe out of bed and into his wheelchair. Like every other morning for the past six months, she helped him to the bathroom. She emptied his catheter bag and handed him his toothbrush.

“What would you like for breakfast, dear?” she asked.

With a mouth full of toothpaste, Joe mumbled, “Just a cup of my morning Joe!” He laughed, toothpaste sputtering.

Joe’s special Colombian coffee was the bitterest, blackest cup of coffee known to man, with the highest amount of caffeine legally possible. Every morning he tried to convince Rose to have a cup with him, but she always declined, being more of a tea person herself.

Rose rolled Joe into the kitchen and parked him at the table as she prepared his coffee.

“Won’t you have a cup with me, dear?” Joe asked, as he did every morning.

With a smile, Rose replied, “Alright! Fine! Today’s the big day—the day I have a cup of Joe!”

“You’re kidding! Well, I guess it’s going to snow in April!”

The two laughed as Rose went about making the coffee and breakfast for herself.

“How are you feeling today?” Rose asked.

“Eh, not so hot, but I’ll manage. I don’t think I’m up for church today, but maybe we could watch a sermon on TV or something.”

“Of course! That works for me,” Rose replied as she cracked two eggs into the frying pan.

“You sure? You look awfully pretty. I’d hate to think you got all done up for nothing. You could always go without me. I’ll be fine here alone. I’ll take a nap or something.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Rose said. “Church will always be there. This is more important.”

She continued cooking, then opened the spice cabinet and stared at a small bag of crushed pills. A gnawing pain settled in the pit of her stomach. She reached for the bag and hesitated, questioning herself, questioning her decision. But Rose knew what she had to do. She had already fought herself and her feelings. In the end, she understood what had to be done.

I guess this is it, she thought. It’s for the best.

Rose took the bag of white powder and emptied it into Joe’s cup of coffee.

“I hope you’re not putting sugar in mine,” Joe said with a smile. “You know I like my coffee black.”

“Of course, dear,” Rose replied. “This one’s mine.”

“Ah! That’s right!” Joe laughed. “I forgot you’re having a cup of Joe. Better add some milk too—that stuff’s strong enough to put hair on your chest!”

The two laughed, Joe breaking into a coughing fit.

“Ah, geez,” he managed to blurt out.

“Should I get the oxygen?” Rose asked in a panic.

Joe shook his head and pointed at the coffee. Rose rushed to grab it and handed it to him, watching as he took a gulp and let out one final cough.

“Ah! That’s better,” he said, his hand shaking as he placed the cup down.

Rose plated her food, grabbed her cup of coffee, and sat across from Joe at the kitchen table. She took a sip, her face tightening.

“How’s the coffee?” Joe asked.

“Tastes like a rubber tire!”

They laughed and settled into a comfortable silence. After sixty years together, there wasn’t much left to say, and neither of them minded. Rose watched Joe finish his coffee, carefully controlling her expression.

Only one month to live, she thought. But is this truly living?

“I think that was probably the best cup of Joe I’ve ever had in my whole life,” Joe said with a smile.

Tears welled in Rose’s eyes.

“I love you, Rose,” Joe said softly. “More than anything in the world.”

Rose wiped her tears and smiled. “I know. I love you too. Let’s go into the living room and watch the service.”

She cleared the dishes and rolled Joe into the living room, turning on the television. The preacher’s voice filled the room, but Rose was distracted. Joe was no longer the strong and fearless man he once was. He was weak and weary, dying of cancer—his hair gone, bones brittle, muscles atrophied. Still, to Rose, he would always be the goofy football player she met in high school—the love of her life.

Joe began to nod off.

“Should I put you to bed?” Rose asked.

“I think so, dear,” he murmured.

She helped him into bed and sat beside him, holding his hand as he drifted off.

“I love you, Joe,” she whispered. “I always will.”

She closed the curtains and kissed his forehead.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Rose squeezed his hand one last time and smiled through her tears. She turned off the light and closed the door behind her. She took a deep breath, still smelling the coffee lingering in the air, and listened to the silence as her world came to an end.