We locked eyes across the room. I could see terror in hers, and it made me ache. I hoped she’d see the calm in mine, the resignation. I hoped it would give her some peace.

She was so beautiful. I loved her more then than I thought my heart could take. I thought back to our wedding day — she had gardenias in her hair. I recalled the way her face looked when the doctor placed our first daughter on her chest. Her laugh was still ringing in my ears.

I held her gaze, and everything else fell away. The ripping sounds, the gnashing of teeth, the metallic smell of blood — all replaced by the silence of a snowdrift, the grassy smell of her perfume.

As they tore my insides to pieces, I found myself wishing we could still make love.