He’d been a force of nature. A pillar of rock hewn out of a mountain. Immovable. Indestructible. It was only recently that I’d begun to understand that he was in love with my mother. After she was killed, little by little, piece by piece, I’d watched him wither away, becoming less of himself. Becoming a shadow. The man that stood before me now was barely recognizable.
this is about elroy. it is statistically proven that men are far more worse if a spouce dies than if the woman lives and the husband dies
