Both me and my girlfriend froze, exchanging a surprised look to see Rosie going to the kitchen counter. A thought rose from the back of my mind. Quickly I walked to the kitchen, not noticing that my girlfriend was following me.
But before I could reach Rosie, she clutched a knife from a knife block, her knuckles white around the handle. Her breathing was uneven, and tears streaked her face. I stopped and looked at her.
“Rosie, put it down,” I said, my voice calm but urgent. I took a cautious step toward her. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Why not?” she snapped, her voice cracking. “What’s the point? You don’t care. Nobody cares. What’s the point of anything if I’m just… replaceable?”
My girlfriend entered the kitchen and stood by my side, her voice steady but gentle. “Rosie, listen to me. I know you’re hurting, but this isn’t the answer. We can get you help. Please, just put the knife down.”
Rosie laughed bitterly, tears still streaming. “Help? What do you know about help? You just waltzed in and took everything I had.”
“No one took anything from you,” I said firmly. “This is about choices. We both made choices, and now we have to live with them. But this?” I gestured toward the knife. “This isn’t living, Rosie. This is giving up. And you were never someone to give up.”
For a moment, it seemed like my words might reach her. Her grip on the knife loosened slightly, but then her face crumpled, and she pressed the blade against her arm. “I can’t,” she whispered. “I can’t do this anymore.”
“Yes, you can,” I said, stepping closer. “I know you can. Just give me the knife. Please.”
In a sudden motion, she dragged the blade across her forearm, gasping in pain as blood welled up and dripped onto the floor.
“Damn it!” I shouted, rushing to her side as the knife clattered to the floor. My girlfriend was already pulling her phone from her pocket. “I’ll call an ambulance,” she said, her voice steady despite the tension in the room.
I grabbed a dish towel from the counter and pressed it firmly against Rosie’s wound. “Keep pressure on it,” I said, my voice urgent but controlled. Rosie winced, her breathing rapid and shallow.
“Stay with me, Rosie,” I said, looking into her eyes. “You’re going to be okay. Just keep breathing.”
“The ambulance is on its way,” my girlfriend said, kneeling beside us. She placed a hand on Rosie’s shoulder, her touch gentle but firm. “Help is coming. Just hold on.”
Rosie’s tears mixed with the blood on her arm, her expression a mix of pain and despair. “Why do you care?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
“Because your life matters,” I replied firmly. “No matter what you think right now or did, it matters.”
Minutes felt like hours as we waited for the paramedics. I kept the pressure steady on her arm, my hands steady despite the adrenaline coursing through me. My girlfriend stayed by our side, speaking softly to Rosie to keep her conscious and calm. It also kept me calm.
The sound of sirens in the distance brought a wave of relief. “They’re here,” my girlfriend said, standing meet the paramedics at the door that was still open.
When the paramedics arrived, they took over quickly, assessing Rosie’s condition and preparing to transport her to the hospital. One of them looked at me and said, “You did a good job keeping the bleeding under control. That made a big difference.”
I nodded silently, stepping back as they lifted Rosie onto a stretcher. She glanced at me as they wheeled her toward the door, her eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and sorrow.
As the ambulance drove away, the kitchen fell silent once more. I stood in the middle of the room, the dish towel still in my hands, now stained with blood. Our new cat came into the kitchen, who had hidden in the hallway during the discussion with Rosie. My girlfriend approached me, placing a reassuring hand on my arm. “You did everything you could,” she said softly.
I nodded, my gaze distant. “I just hope it’s enough.”
