she looked at her kids again... the twins were fast asleep, tears drying on each cheek. the dog lay at the foot of the kids' bed, it's forehead wrinkled in a worry. the kids and the dog always seemed to sense her state of mind, and cried on her behalf. things were not always this bad, she remembered. the dreaded disease and it's diagnosis had brought with it this misery. and they all suffered, silently and helplessly. she had lived through the denial at first, and then the depression, and the shock at the rapid changes, to bewilderment at the violence it brought along, and now a heightened need to protect her three children - the twins and the dog. if one death was the passport to their collective happiness, she would go the extra mile... she would outrace the disease for them.
she looked at their sleeping forms one last time. life would be good again, she vowed, as she retrieved the cleaver from it's hiding place and closed the door softly behind her. and walked nervelessy across the dark hallway. she was only being a mother, she told herself, as she stood with the cleaver over her ailing husband's body.
* Weekend Wordsmith prompt92: passport