Kathy's last attempt had left her comatose. It was only right that I clipped her nails, plucked her eyebrows. Handle the things she couldn't. Her blonde hair fell across her shoulders, the blonde hair that she spent so much time maintaining. Our medicine cabinet was chock full of serums, creams, oils, all in a row on each of the shelves, for purposes I never quite understood.

 

"Do you think hair that looks this good comes naturally?" Kathy would say every time I complained. Turning quickly toward me, sending her hair swirling like a shampoo commercial.

 

Kathy doesn’t need those products anymore. Her hair always looks great now. It only needs a comb.

 

I sat beside her once I finished with her hair. My headphone pinged and I long-blinked to open it. A message from our insurance. My claim had been denied, and I'd have to pay cash. Was I angry about that? No, because ten uploads were more than a fair shake. Most people didn't even come close to four or five unless they were the daredevil types who went skydiving or mountain climbing.

 

I had the cash to cover it. I figured I'd try to solve how to keep her alive once she was back.

 

Again.

 

Maybe reason with her, convince her somehow. Because I wasn’t about to give up on my wife.

 

Doctor Singh walked in a few minutes later just as I was finishing up my response to our insurance company. His white lab coat and salt-and-pepper hair lent an air of authority. He waved his hand in front of Kathy’s bed pulling up her chart for review. I watched as he swiped through the previous ten events nodding and furrowing his brow as he read clinically, giving nothing away.

"So, everything looks good. We'll take her now," he said, with a clap of his hands.

 

I nodded as two orderlies entered, tossed a blanket over Kathy like a piece of furniture and wheeled her out. I was hopeful. Hopeful that my wife would eventually come around. I walked over to the window and stared down at the city traffic below. Flowers were in bloom. I picked up a bouquet of fresh white roses for Kathy when she came to.

 

It was a frequent topic of our dinner discussions and the last one before her accident. She was in her seat at one end of our dining room table, and I was at the other. We were separated by a lit candelabra.

 

"You went down there again. Didn't you?" I said, gesturing with my fork to the news on the screen. Protests were ramping up outside of Mt. Sinai Hospital by Right to Death advocates. She'd been coming home late the days prior. I knew that's where she was.

 

"I don't want to talk about this, Dan. It's going to be an argument," she said, looking across the table directly at me. The flames of the candle flickered and danced as I met her gaze.

 

"I'll never understand it. Why anyone would want to die. Leaving family behind. Those who care and love you. Selfish." I knew those words would get her to react. I knew it and I said them anyway.

 

She dropped her fork onto her plate. "Selfish? You call causing someone to suffer through this existence when it's their time selfish? Really Dan? Selfish is dragging a person back from the dead because you can't deal with it. It's a part of life. Death. It's what makes this whole human experience. The finite aspect. Take that away and what do we have? I love you Dan, I respected your choice when you died last year. But when it's my time, it’s my time."

Kathy got up and left the room. Probably to read in bed, but I don't know. I didn't follow her. She slipped on a patch of ice the next morning walking to the subway. Hit her head against the concrete six months ago and that was that.

 

About an hour later, as I was nodding off sitting on the windowsill, they returned. Kathy was back. Good as new in her latest body. Fresh out of the mold. She looked radiant. Like the day we met. I was apprehensive because I'd seen this before but optimistic as always that we could work through it.

 

"Speech is still a little off, but it will be there within 72 hours," Doctor Singh said, looking down at the chart on his hand display. "Good news though. Great news in fact. Your wife is a prime candidate for a new drug. Just a single little pill. Experimental, solves this depression and compulsion. Forces acceptance," Doctor Singh said, smiling.

 

Kathy just stood there. Beautiful as ever except her eyes were vacant. Dormant. "Does it work?" I asked, looking her over. I closed my eyes as I ran my fingers through her hair. Whispered that I’d never give up on her.

 

"It does. She will be happy. You'll have her back."

 

She'd been back. I needed her to stay back. To stay with me. I knew my answer without having to give it much thought.

 

Kathy took a step away from us, eyes wide. Trying to speak and failing. She was becoming cognizant.

 

I nodded to Doctor Singh.

 

Kathy hadn't wanted immortality. She respected my choice to be uploaded but remained steadfast in her right to die.

 

I just couldn't be alone.

 

Sometimes I'll see her in the kitchen holding a knife, smiling. It's like she's looking down longingly at something she'll never reach. A mirage. In the mornings I always find her on our balcony looking down, smiling. Grasping the railing so hard that her knuckles turn white. Like all the veins in her hands are about to burst. And I just watch through the sliding glass door. Watch her smile at the street below, so close yet so far.

 

A fire was trapped behind her eyes.