As I stared at his body laying before me, I was suddenly overcome with having to know.
Sure, he might finally have been dead which is something I’d wanted for a long time but I needed to know for sure.
I needed to know for sure whether he did indeed have a heart after all.
I’d accused him on more than one occasion of not having one but he was human after all.
I took my knife, held it high above my head for a few seconds before plunging it into and slicing open his chest cavity. Reaching in tentatively I felt my hand close over something that was about the right size and shape for a heart.
I didn’t want to look.
Instead, I closed my eyes, pulled hard and lifted it out to place it on the cutting board.
I didn’t want to open my eyes but the suspense was killing me.
I opened my right one first and looked down.
It WAS a heart.
He did have a heart after all.
I think at some point it had worked but after too many heartaches and pain it had stopped and sat like a hard, cold stone in his chest for years on end until I’d found him.
I thought I could change all that but he was too far gone. Nothing could have helped him. Except for death.
And that was the last thing I was willing to do for him.