The Last Supper

Kate took her time as she set the table for one. The plates were white porcelain with a thin gold rim, the very plates she rarely used because there was no reason to. The matching fork and knife went to the right, the spoons above them. A folded linen napkin sat precisely where it belonged. The last thing she placed was a tall wineglass beside the plate. Kate stood back for a moment, studying the arrangement.

Just one setting, which is exactly as she originally intended. She adjusted the fork by perhaps half an inch, which was much better.

The dining room was small, but tonight it looked quite elegant. The lady of the house had turned off the overhead light leaving only the chandelier above the table and two candles burning in simple glass holders. Their flames reflected faintly in the dark windows, making the room seem larger than it actually was.

Outside, rain tapped softly against the glass, and Kate liked that sound. It made the house feel less empty as she carried the food in from the kitchen one dish at a time. She had gone to more trouble than usual for this dinner. A small salad with pear and toasted walnuts. Fresh bread still warm beneath a folded towel. Roasted potatoes with rosemary. Green beans with butter and garlic.

And in the center of it all, on a serving platter, was a seasoned steak. She had bought the best one the butcher had. The cuts of meat had cost more than she normally spent on an entire week's groceries. She had bought three steaks, and cooked each of them carefully, leaving the center exactly the way she liked it. She added a little sea salt and cracked pepper when they were all done, and then she selected the best of the three for her own serving. She softly set the platter on the table in front of her lone setting at the table. She stood there looking at it with a faint smile on her face. It was perfectly set for what was going to be a very special night.

“Happy birthday, Kate.” she softly whispered to herself.

Her voice sounded strange in the empty room. Kate poured herself a small glass of wine and carried it to the table. The bottle was expensive too, as she had been saving this vintage bottle for a very special moment. For tonight.

Kate sat down, and for a moment she simply looked around the room. There were no decorations. No balloons. No flowers. No cards. No presents. Kate didn’t want any of that puff and fluff as birthdays had never meant much to her. Still, there was something about this day that felt different. She couldn't explain why but was about to start eating her meal when something happened.

The doorbell rang.

Kate froze when she heard it as the sound was absurdly loud. She lowered the fork slowly and for over a minute she didn't move. Nobody was supposed to be coming as she hadn’t invited anyone to join her.

The bell rang again.

Kate frowned, as she glanced toward the front hallway and then at the clock. It was five minutes after seven. She considered ignoring the person at her door when the bell rang a third time.

“Fine.” Kate said to herself as she pushed back her chair.

The house was quiet as she walked toward the front door. She didn't turn on any lights. She didn't know why. Habit, perhaps.

She looked through the peephole and stopped breathing for a moment. For one strange moment, her mind had refused to make sense of what she was seeing. An old man stood on the porch. His coat was soaked through as rainwater ran from the brim of his hat and down the sides of his face. One hand tightly gripped the handle of a battered suitcase. He looked thinner than she remembered. He was older and smaller, but there was no mistaking who was at her door. Kate stared through the glass as the man she knew as her father, and just like that… twenty-two years disappeared in an instant. Kate was suddenly seventeen again as she could smell cigarette smoke and hear a man's voice shouting from another room. For a moment she could hear the echo of her mother crying, and then the memories were gone.

Kate remained perfectly still and watched as her father lifted his hand and knocked. Three slow knocks. She took in a deep breath and opened the door.

He looked at her, and for a moment neither of them spoke. His eyes moved over her face as though he were searching for the little girl he remembered.

“Kate.” He softly said. His voice was older, but it was still his.

Kate said nothing, as her old man glanced behind her.

“I'm sorry to come like this.” He added.

Kate almost laughed but stopped herself. Of all the words he could have chosen, that was the last one she expected to hear from him.

"I didn't know where else to go," he continued.

Kate looked at the suitcase, and then back at him.

“What happened?” she asked.

He shifted uncomfortably, as the answer was obviously embarrassing.

“It's complicated.” He replied.

Of course it was, Kate thought to herself. It always was with this man.

“It doesn't matter,” he said quickly. “I just need somewhere to stay. A few days. Maybe a week at most.”

“I haven't seen you in twenty-two years.” Kate reminded him.

“I know.” Her father confirmed.

“You haven't called.” Kate continued, “You never even wrote.”

Her father’s eyes dropped as the rain continued falling behind him. Kate should have slammed the door in that bastard’s face, which she was very tempted to do. Every sensible instinct she possessed told her to do exactly that. Instead, she found herself looking at the old man standing on her porch and wondering what had finally brought him to her. He looked frightened, and that was new to her. She had never seen her father frightened before. He had always been the kind of guy that other people were usually frightened of.

“I don't have anywhere else to go,” he said.

Kate looked at him for a long moment, then something inside her settled. She thought of the table in the next room that only had a single setting, and a very expensive bottle of wine sitting beside it. She had spent a long time making everything ready for this night. Perhaps fate had decided she needed company.

“Come in.” Kate said, as she couldn’t believe the words as they left her mouth.

Her father looked genuinely surprised.

“You're letting me in?” her father asked, as he couldn’t believe it either.

Kate stepped aside and opened the door wider.

“Please,” Kate said, trying to sound cordial “Please step inside.”

Her father picked up his suitcase and crossed the threshold. Kate closed the door behind him, and for a moment neither of them moved. Then her father smelled the food from the dining room, and his expression changed.

“You were having dinner?” he asked.

“I was.” Kate confirmed.

“By yourself?” her father asked.

Kate looked toward the dining room.

“Yes.” She replied.

He followed her gaze, as the table was visible from the hallway. There was one plate, one glass, and one chair pulled back. His eyes lingered on the meal.

“That's quite a dinner.” He complimented.

“It is.” She agreed.

“Special occasion?” he asked her.

Kate looked at him for a moment.

“It’s my birthday.” She answered.

Her father closed his eyes and groaned.

“Oh, my gawd!” he cussed, “I forgot.”

“I know.” Kate replied, as the words came out without anger.

That soft response appeared to bother him more than anger would have. Her old man paused for a moment and then cleared his throat.

“Well... happy birthday.” He finally said to her.

“Thank you.” Kate said, with genuine appreciation.

She turned toward the dining room, and her father followed. He stopped beside the table, and Kate walked to her place. Then she looked across at the empty side of the table. For several seconds she stood there with her father watching her.

“What's wrong?” He asked.

“Nothing.” Kate replied, as she walked to the cabinet.

She opened it and removed another plate along with another knife and fork. After placing those on the table she went back to fetch some spoons, and a second wineglass. Her father watched in silence as she arranged a second place setting right across from her own. She looked at the table, which now had two places. Her father smiled for the first time since arriving, and he looked relieved.

“Thank you.” he softly said to her.

Kate looked back at him, and then at the empty wineglass in front of his chair. For the briefest moment, something unreadable crossed her face. She then smiled back at the old man.

“You're welcome.” Kate replied, as she pulled the chair out for him. “Sit.”

He did, as Kate picked up his plate and left for the kitchen. There was plenty of food in the kitchen to make three more helpings, so putting something together for her father was not going to be an issue. She picked out one of the two steaks remaining and then filled the rest of the plate with the same sides she had given herself. She wasn’t as careful with the plating of the food this time, as she believed it would be wasted on the person who the plate was being made for. She slowly strolled back into the dining room and delivered the food to her father. As she placed the food before him, her father looked back at her with a face that was one of genuine surprise and gratitude.

Kate didn’t say anything and simply walked back to her own seat and sat back down. For the first time in twenty-two years, they sat across from one another. The candles flickered between them, and Kate picked up the wine bottle. Her father watched eagerly as she poured wine in his glass. Then she set the bottle down as her own glass remained untouched.

“You're not drinking?” he asked.

“Not yet,” Kate replied. “Later."

Her father shrugged as he lifted his glass and took a long swallow. Kate watched as he drank down the expensive win in deep gulps. There was no surprise on her face. Only patience as she watched him lower his glass.

“That's really good.” He told her.

“I know.” Kate replied with a smile.

Her father took another drink while Kate picked up her fork and finally began to eat her own food. The food was exactly as she had wanted it as she took one small delicate bit at a time. As her father reached for the wine again, Kate lowered her eyes to her plate. She had been prepared to spend this night alone, but it appeared that life had a peculiar way of giving people exactly what they deserved. She took another bite and waited.

Her father cut into his steak before Kate had finished her first bite. His knife dragged across the porcelain with an ugly scrape, but her father didn't seem to hear it. He shovelled the piece of meat into his mouth, chewed twice, and reached for another. Kate watched him for a moment before returning to her plate. She had cut a small piece for herself and brought it to her mouth and let it rest on her tongue before chewing slowly. The steak was exactly right. Tender in the center, crisp around the edges, and seasoned just enough. Kate closed her eyes for half a second. Her father was already shovelling some of the potatoes into his mouth. The old man continued to eat quickly and carelessly, as if the meal had been placed in front of him for no other reason than to satisfy him.

Kate slowly took another bite and savored that one too. She watched as her father reached for the bread. Instead of taking a single slice, he tore off a large piece with his fingers. Crumbs fell across the tablecloth. He didn't notice or even care. He dipped the bread into the juices left on his plate. Kate watched him with awe, as there was something strangely familiar about the way he occupied the table.

He had always done that. Not just the table, but with everything. He always took up whatever space he wanted, took whatever he wanted, and somehow everyone else was expected to make room for him. Her father picked up his wineglass and drank deeply until the glass was empty. The glass came down hard enough to make the silverware jump.

Then he immediately reached for the bottle. He didn't ask for permission to refill his wineglass and didn’t even look as his estranged daughter as he simply poured himself another glass. Kate watched the dark red wine rise nearly to the rim.

“Still good?” she asked him.

Her father took a gulp before bothering to respond.

“Very.” He finally said.

Kate smiled faintly and even lifted her water glass instead, which her father noticed. He gave her a strange look.

“You're really not having any?”

“I will,” She assured him, “Just not yet.”

“You're the one who bought it.” He reminded her.

“I am well aware.” Kate replied.

He shrugged and drank again as Kate returned to her food. She had chosen each part of the meal carefully as she didn't want to rush it. There was no reason to hurry through each part of the meal. She ate the salad next, which had a small piece of pear, a walnut, and a leaf of bitter greens. She tasted each one separately, as her father had already finished his steak and potatoes. He looked at the serving dish.

“There's more, right?” He asked her.

“Of course.” She replied.

Her father helped himself.

“Take your time.” Kate said with a smile.

He looked at her strangely.

“What?” he said, looking confused.

“Nothing.” Kate said, as she watched him continue eating.

She wondered if he had ever taken his time with anything in his entire life. He hadn't when she was young, as she remembered he was never very patient with meals. He was also impatient with conversations, people, and especially apologies. Especially people who couldn't give him what he wanted. Kate remembered how small she had once felt sitting across from him. How she had learned to make herself smaller so she wouldn’t be noticed and could hide in plain site. It was a habit that came in handy if he ever lost his temper during supper.

Now her father sat in the same place, occupying twice the space. His elbow rested on the table, and his shirt sleeve brushed the gravy. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and then reached for the wine once more.

After another long swallow, the bottle was noticeably lower now. Kate's wineglass remained untouched as she didn’t even look at it. She didn't need to as Kate knew exactly where it was. Her father poured himself another glass.

“You're awfully quiet.” Her father said to her.

“I'm eating.” Kate replied.

“You're always quiet.” Her father reminded her.

Kate looked at him.

“Not always.” She corrected him.

Her father laughed.

“I suppose you've got a lot to say after all these years.” He added.

“Maybe.” Kate replied.

“Well?” Her father asked, as he watched her take another bite.

She chewed slowly.

“What's the rush?” She asked her father.

He frowned for a moment, then dismissed her with a wave and went back to eating like a slob. Kate looked down at her plate. The food was wonderful. She hadn't expected it to be. Perhaps that was because she had never allowed herself to make anything this elaborate before. There had always been another day, and even another birthday or occasion. Plenty of reasons to break out the good china and expensive wine.

Tonight she had decided otherwise, as she took each deliberate bite. Each one savored while across the table, her father was nearly finished. He had barely tasted anything and merely consumed it while she was trying to experience it.

The difference struck her as almost funny as she watched her father reached for the bottle again. He tilted it to see that only a little remained. He frowned at her.

“That's all?” he asked her.

Kate looked at the bottle.

“Apparently.” She replied.

He poured what was left into his glass, and then he held it up.

“You're sure you don't want any?” he asked her.

Kate looked at her own untouched glass.

“No.” she answered, “I’ll be alright.”

“More for me.” Her father said with a shrug, and then he drank.

She picked up her fork. Her father stared at her for a moment and then shook his head.

“You haven't changed.” He told her.

Kate looked at him.

“I guess not.” she said, taking another bite.

Kate looked at the bottle and noticed that it was empty. Her father tipped the wine over his glass and refused to accept what his eyes were telling him. A single drop fell onto the tablecloth, and for a moment the old man frowned as his own mess.

“Shame.” He said, without a care about what had happened.

Kate looked at the bottle.

“Yes.” She agreed. “Quite.”

Her father set it down with a heavy thump, and for a few moments neither of them spoke. Kate finished the last piece of steak on her plate. She placed her knife and fork together and leaned back in her chair. Her father wiped his mouth with his napkin, as he had nearly eaten everything. The only way his plate could have been cleaner is if he licked the sauce off.

Kate had barely touched half of her serving.

“You really should have some wine,” he said. “It was really good.”

“I'll have some later.” Kate informed him.

Her father let out a bellowing laugh.

“You're a strange woman.” He said to his daughter.

Kate smiled.

“That's what I've been told.” She replied.

After getting his fill, the old man leaned back.

“So,” Her father said, looking about. “You've got a nice place here.”

Kate looked around the dining room.

“I suppose.” She responded.

“Must be worth a pretty penny.” The old man assumed.

Kate looked at him, as there it was. She had wondered how long it would take.

“What makes you ask that?” Kate inquired.

Her father shrugged.

“I'm just saying,” He replied. “A woman living alone in a house like this...”

He let the thought hang, but Kate said nothing.

Her father studied her for a moment.

“You don't have anyone?” he asked.

“I do not.” Kate confirmed.

“Never married?” her father asked.

“Never have,” Kate replied, “And never will.”

“What about kids?” he asked.

“None.” Kate replied.

Kate’s father shook his head.

“Always thought that was strange.” He muttered.

Kate didn't answer as she watched her dad pick up his empty glass and turn it slowly between his fingers.

“Well, I suppose you've got plenty of time to change that.” He assumed.

Kate looked at him.

“I’m afraid that’s not true.” Kate said to him. “I don't have plenty of time.”

Something in her voice made him pause, as her father frowned.

“What does that mean?” he asked.

Kate folded her napkin carefully beside her plate.

“It means I won't be here much longer.” she answered.

The old man stared at her.

“Are you're moving?” he asked her.

“No.” Kate responded.

“Then what’s going on?” her father demanded.

Kate looked directly at him.

“I'm dying.” She replied.

The words settled quietly between them. Her father didn't move for several seconds as he simply stared at her.

Kate patiently waited, as she had imagined telling someone those words many times but never had the chance to until now. She had imagined tears, questions, and perhaps a hand reaching across the table. She had imagined someone saying they were sorry and trying to offer treatment options and prayers.

“How long?” her father finally asked.

Kate almost smiled.

“That's your first question?” she countered.

He shifted in his chair.

“Well... how long?” he repeated.

“Not long.” Kate answered.

“What does that mean?” her father demanded.

“Only a few months.” she replied. “Less than that, probably.”

Her father looked at her, and then around the dining room. At the house, the furniture, and even her the pricey paintings on the walls. At everything Kate had accumulated over the years. Kate watched his eyes move and didn't need to ask what he was thinking. She already knew what was going through the old man’s head.

He finally looked back at her.

“Do you have a will?” he asked.

Kate laughed softly.

“What?” he asked, frowning.

“Nothing.” Kate said, as she was more than amused.

“Kate, I'm serious.” her father insisted.

“So am I.” Kate said, smiling back. “I can assure you.”

“If you're going to be gone,” her father continued, gesturing to everything around them. “Then what happens to all this?”

Kate looked down at her plate, and there was still food left. She picked up her fork and took another bite. Her father watched her and was still quite curious.

“You must have made arrangements.” he assumed.

“As a matter of fact, I have.” Kate replied.

“Does it come to me?” he asked.

“Excuse me?” Kate asked, as that was a little surprising. “What do you mean?”

“I mean the house!” her father answered. “The money. Whatever you've got.”

He spoke as though asking about a misplaced coat.

“I mean, I'm your father.” He reminded her.

“Are you?” Kate asked, as she stopped eating to look at him.

His expression hardened.

“Don't start.” He warned her.

“I'm not starting anything.” Kate assured him.

“You know what I mean!” the old man snarled.

Kate nodded because she did know what he meant. She knew that her father was already calculating everything in his head. The man had learned she was dying less than a few minutes ago, and he had already begun dividing up her life between himself and whatever debts he had accumulated.

She wasn't hurt but this nor was she even surprised. If anything, she found it reassuring as this was exactly as she remembered him.

“I could use the help,” he continued. “I've got nowhere to live. You heard me.”

“You told me.” Kate recalled.

“If you left me the house,” Her father said, looking around again, “Then I would have somewhere to go.”

Kate looked at him for a long moment, and then she smiled.

“You might.” She agreed.

His face softened.

“That's what I'm talking about.” He replied, feeling he was making progress.

Kate picked up her water glass and took a short sip.

“You're not angry?” her father asked.

“Why would I be?” Kate countered.

“Most people would be offended.” Her father explained.

“I'm not most people.” She reminded her dad.

“No.” her father agreed. “You never were.”

Kate looked at his empty wineglass, at the empty bottle, and then back at him.

“No,” she quietly concurred. “I wasn't.”

Her father suddenly began to shift in his chair, as something seemed wrong with him. He started rubbing his chest.

“Jesus.” He cussed.

Kate said nothing and watched as her father loosened the collar of his shirt.

“That wine was stronger than I thought.” He assumed.

“You did say it was very good.” Kate reminded him.

Her father laughed weakly and then stopped. His hand remained firmly planted against his chest. Kate watched him as he had no idea what was going on and that was the strangest part. The old man had walked through her door because he had nowhere else to go. He had sat at her table because he wanted something. He had eaten her food and drunk all her wine. He even had the audacity to ask about her house and her money. And all the while, Kate had been patiently waiting for the poison to do what she had prepared for it to do.

The wine had never been meant for him, as it was for her. Kate had bought it weeks ago and had chosen the meal tonight because she wanted one final birthday dinner. One final beautiful meal. One last evening in the only home she had ever truly controlled. She had planned to drink the wine herself and then go upstairs to bed and close her eyes on last time. She had accepted that ending until the doorbell rang.

Her father shifted again.

“Kate?” he called out.

“Yes?” she replied.

“I don't feel very good.” he informed her.

Kate looked at him.

“I know.” She replied.

He stared at her.

“What the hell does that mean?” he demanded.

Kate didn't answer and chose to look down at her plate. The steak was still warm, so she picked up her fork and resumed eating. For the first time that evening, she felt completely at peace. Her father had no idea that the wine he had emptied so enthusiastically had never been intended for him. He had no idea that he had just stolen a final drink from a woman sitting who had already accepted death. And he certainly had no idea that, tonight, she had been given something she never could have planned for herself: a choice.

Kate took another bite, and it was delicious.

Across the table, her father pressed a trembling hand against his chest.

“Something's wrong.” he told her.

Kate nodded.

“I know.” she replied.

Her father stared at her.

“What do you mean, you know?” he asked.

Kate didn't answer immediately, as she looked at the wineglass sitting in front of him. It was as empty as the bottle. She had intended to drink perhaps half a glass as that small amount would have given her time to do some things before the poison kicked in. She intended to clean the dining room and kitchen. She was going to put away the dishes, and then take a long, hot bath. Once she had changed into her favorite pajamas, Kate intended go to bed and peacefully die in her sleep.

She had wanted her last evening to be beautiful, and her father has shown up just in time to ruin it. Then, somehow, he had made it better.

“Kate.” He whispered.

She looked back at him.

“I wasn't going to drink very much.” Kate informed him.

“What do you mean?” he asked her, now gasping for breath.

“The wine.” Kate explained, “I was only going to have a small glass.”

He stared at her.

“Why?” he asked her, still not cluing in.

“Because I had somewhere to be tomorrow.” Kate playfully answered.

Her father's expression tightened.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he asked.

Kate leaned back in her chair.

“I was going to die tonight.” She told him.

Her father stared at her as the room seemed to grow quieter. Even the rain outside appeared distant.

“You said you were sick.” he recalled.

“I am.” Kate confirmed.

“You said you were dying.” her father repeated.

“I am.” Kate confirmed again.

The old man shook his head.

“No.” he said, still gasping. “I don't understand.”

“You weren't supposed to.” Kate replied.

Her father tried to stand as his chair scraped sharply against the floor. He got halfway upright before his knees buckled. He caught himself against the edge of the table, the plates rattled. Kate remained seated as her father’s breathing had changed.

They were now short, and uneven.

“What did you do?” he asked her.

Kate looked at him.

“I told you.” she replied.

His eyes moved toward the wine bottle, and then back to her.

“No.” he barely managed to say.

“Yes.” Kate said, as she watched her father’s face go pale.

“You poisoned me!” he roared in anger.

Kate didn't correct him, as she didn't need to.

His hand went to his mouth, as he stumbled backward.

“What did you put in it?” he asked.

“Enough.” Kate cryptically answered.

He looked toward the door, and then back at Kate.

“You need to call somebody!” he demanded. “I need help!”

Kate watched him with an amused look on her face.

“I don’t have to do anything,” She replied, “And don’t you dare blame me for all this. You’re the one who drank the whole bottle.”

He stared at her.

“I didn't know.” he replied.

“I know.” Kate agreed, “But you never bothered to ask. You didn’t just interrupt my birthday. What you actually interrupted was my last supper, and my suicide.”

"You have to call an ambulance!” her father cried out, wincing in pain.

Kate glanced at her cell phone, which was beside her with the screen pointing down into table. It was less than a foot away. She could reach it and make the call. She could tell them exactly what happened. There was a chance that the paramedics could save is live but considering how much wine he had just consumed the odds were clearly not in his favor. Even if she tried to save him, chances are her father would be dead long before any ambulance could arrive.

Her father staggered away from the table.

“Please!” he begged.

Kate had heard that word before, but not from him. Never from him. She remembered her mother saying it, and she even remembered herself saying it. Each time her father had never listened to them. He wasn't listening now as he almost made it to the dinning room door that led into the hallway. Yet his legs gave out as her father struck the floor hard and rolled onto his side.

Kate flinched, but that was just instinct taking over.

She started to rise, but then she stopped. Her father was struggling to breathe as his hands clawed at the carpet.

“Kate,” he whispered as now he could barley speak.

She looked at him as he was now trying to crawl towards her.

“Help me.” he begged.

She stood beside the table and looked at her idle cell phone. It was so close, and she could use it to make a call and try to save him. But then she looked at the empty wine bottle. Her father had poured every last drop into his own glass. He hadn't asked permission and hadn't wondered whether it was enough. He had simply taken what he wanted just as he had. Kate continued to watch as her father began to convulse on the floor. She could feel her heart beating hard against her ribs. Kate had spent twenty-two years imagining what it would feel like to see him suffer. She had imagined satisfaction, anger, and even relief. She hadn't imagined this as there was no triumph in it. Only an awful certainty, because her father had done this to himself. He had walked into her house and sat at her table. He had taken what wasn't his and drank the bottle until it was empty. Now he wanted her to save him.

Kate slowly sat back down, and her father looked up at her with eyes that were wide with terror.

“Please.” he whispered again.

Kate folded her hands in her lap.

“I'm sorry.” Kate said, even though she wasn't sure whether he understood what she meant. Maybe she was sorry for what was happening. Maybe she was sorry that she had ever been his daughter. Maybe she was sorry that there had ever been a time when she had loved him.

His body jerked again several time, as Kate watched from the table. She didn't look away as the candles continued to burn. The rain continued tapping against the windows as her father made one final attempt to move. But he couldn't. His fingers curled against the carpet and then slowly relaxed.

The room became very still.

Kate waited, but she didn't know how long. A minute? Maybe two?

She finally stood up and walked over to him. For a moment she looked down at the man who had shaped so much of her life. He looked smaller now. Much smaller than she had remembered. Smaller than he had seemed when she first opened the door. Kate took the time to check and confirm that her father was dead.

Then she returned to the table, as her birthday dinner was still waiting. The steak had cooled a little and the potatoes were barely warm. Kate sat down, picked up her fork, and began to eat.

Kate sat alone at the table and slowly finished her last supper. Her father's chair remained across from her and was empty now. The candles continued to burn between them, their flames wavering whenever the furnace came on. The rain continued to whisper against her windows. Kate looked at the empty wineglass, and then stared at her own, which was still half full as she had poured it before her suicide was so rudely interrupted.

Kate picked the wineglass up, and it felt cool in her hand. For the first time that evening, she understood just how different their deaths would be. Her father had arrogantly and blindly rushed toward his. He had consumed everything placed in front of him. He had taken so much without asking, demanded it without gratitude, and even assumed that whatever he wanted would be his. Even at the end, he had wanted someone else to fix the consequences of his choices. Kate had no intention of doing that herself.

She had chosen this path carefully. She had planned meticulously. There would be no panicking, no begging, and no hospitals. There would be no strangers standing over her while machines kept her body alive after she had decided she was finished. Kate had wanted one beautiful evening; eating good food while bathed in soft candlelight. All of this within a warm house, that would provide her with a quiet death. She looked toward the doorway where her father had collapsed and felt no fear. If anything, she felt more certain about her decision. His death had not frightened her away from her path. It had reminded her why she had made it in the first place.

Kate put the wineglass back down and picked up her fork. She took the final bite of steak and slowly finished the potatoes. She ate slowly, carefully savoring everything she had prepared for herself. When she was finished, Kate carried the dishes into the kitchen. She washed them, dried them, and then put it away. Then she returned to the dining room, her father's plate remained on the table and Kate chose to leave it there. There was no reason to clean up after him. Kate extinguished the candles.

The room fell dark, as she looked at the clock and realized that it was later than she had expected. She smiled faintly.

“Still plenty of time.” She said to herself, as she picked up the half-filled wineglass and carried it upstairs with her.

Her father's footsteps would never follow her up there, and his voice would never fill the house again. For the first time since she was seventeen, she was completely alone and Kate was all right with that.

In the bathroom, she drew herself a bath. She added the expensive bath oil she had been saving and lit another candle. Then she undressed and lowered herself into the warm water. She closed her eyes, as the house was silent. She thought about her mother, and about the little girl she had once been. She thought about all the years she had spent surviving, and finally, she thought about the woman she had become.

She had endured so much and had built a life. It hadn't been the life she had once imagined, but it had been hers.

And tonight, she would leave it on her own terms.

Kate stayed in the bath until the water began to cool. Then she dried herself, put on the pajamas she had laid out earlier, and went downstairs one final time.

She stopped in the dining room.

The table looked almost exactly as it had when the evening began. Except for the empty chair. Kate stood there for a moment and then she smiled.

“Happy birthday.” She said to herself again.

She turned off the last light and returned upstairs where her bedroom was waiting. She quietly slipped into bed. For a long time, she simply listened to the rain. Then she reached for the wine which she had put on the nightstand before going to the bathroom for her bath. The very glass she had intended for herself. Kate had planned everything around it and finally took a small sip.

Then she took a few more sips until the half-filled glass was empty. Kate set the glass back on the nightstand. She pulled the blankets over herself, softly settled into her favorite pillow, and slowly eyes closed. For the first time in a very long time, Kate felt completely at peace.

Downstairs, the house had become as silent as the corpse that still rested in the doorway of her dinning room. Two people had entered the evening expecting something from the other. Her father had wanted a place to stay, while Kate had wanted one last night of peace.

In the end, they both got what they came for.

Kate smiled in the darkness and patiently waited for the deep sleep she knew was coming to finally begin.