That was it. He was gone. And when it mattered, she wasn't there.

Rita let the letter fall from her weak grip and flutter down on to the kitchen table. Her shoulders slumped. The piece of paper was crumpled and folded at the edges, it had been read and re-read many times and each time ended up stuffed back into the kitchen draw out of sight and out of mind. Well, until the disbelief of it all threatened to consume her and she had it out in front of her again. Each time she had convinced herself she had the strength to try again, the first line tore her in two and she crumbled.

Rita reached for the wine bottle in the centre of the table, pouring the last few drops into her empty glass. She chucked the contents back, ignoring the burning sensation at the back of her throat. Nothing else dulled the pain, nothing but this. Every sip made her stomach turn sickeningly but nothing could make her stop.

Rising to her feet, Rita lurched forwards using the counter for support. Her legs felt like lead. She dropped to her knees and crawled to the sink. Opening the cupboard, she knocked aside the bottles of bleach and window cleaner and reached for the bottle of clear liquid with the red cap. The bottle she had hidden from herself when she was feeling stronger, happy even. Now, it was to be her solace. The barriers she had built, the trust she had put in herself had been torn down. It was all she had left in this world.

She clutched the vodka to her chest and straightened up. Tears began to fall as she unscrewed the cap, she took a small initial gulp and gagged. She hated every part of herself that yearned for the comfort she found in that bottle. She found herself swinging round to face the sink and retching heavily, but nothing came. The pain in her chest blossomed, pumping through her veins and extinguishing every last ounce of hope from her body. A quiet moan escaped her lips. The clock on the kitchen wall showed past midnight.

Her phone display lit up on the counter. Trying to get an even balance as the floor moved beneath her, Rita lent forward to squint at the screen.

Dixie:

Beyond jealous you get a night off kid. You're buying me a drink tomorrow to make up for it. I hate the graveyard shift!

Rita almost chuckled. Dixie on a night shift was a force not to be reckoned with, especially after dealing with a few drunk and disorderly's. In fact she would rather be at work now, at least it was constant and relentless. No time to stop and think. She could almost, just for a little while, let go of the guilt and remorse that threatened to drown her. At work she could pretend nothing had happened; she was the same old Rita, fiercely loyal to her staff and dedicated to the job. No one suspected she could be feeling all this inside, almost like a swan, she mused, graceful on the surface but under the water she was paddling like crazy. More tears traced down her cheeks, to the outside world she was strong but inside she felt hollow and broken.

She wasn't meant to be on shift but maybe they could do with her help? What if it was busy and they were understaffed? Maybe they needed her?

Thoughts like these whirled around in Rita's intoxicated mind as she staggered to the front door. Work was the only place she could shut it out. Make the feelings stop. The wind chilled her to the bone as she stepped out into the dark night. She needed this to stop. Taking another swig from the bottle in her hand, Rita made her way down the dimly lit street. A car raced past on her left shattering the silence. She crossed and turned into the hospital car park. Bright light poured from the ED entrance. She shivered, pulling her thin hoody tightly around her. Pausing at Jeff's bench, Rita took another swig from the vodka bottle. The scream of a neon ambulance sounded as another raced off into the night to rescue some poor soul.

Another patient, another injury, more death. Why did he have to die?

Tears welled up in her eyes again. Taking a step forward, Rita tripped off the kerb. The ground came rushing up to meet her, the bottle smashing in her right hand. Shards of glass scattered into the dark.

Rita tried to move but her limbs were too heavy. Her hand felt sticky and warm. Peering around, she saw a set of feet racing in her direction but couldn't make out anything else. She tried to speak but only a incoherent mumble came out. Her forehead throbbed.

Suddenly, her vision swam alarmingly and everything went black.