Till Death Do Us Part

I held on to the railing as tight as I could.  If I think back I can still feel your hands on my throat, how every breath I took was a struggle.  My hands cut from the splinted wood. A small trail of blood rolled down the stairs where I was soon to go.  It was an old house, my great grandmother was born in this room.  I could hear the railing crack, I was about to fall.  Would it be worse falling and hearing the sound of my own neck break or to take my last breath looking in your eyes?  Your grip grew tighter, the gurgling sounds I could once make, now I could not. I could no longer struggle. My eyes began to close on yours, a man who I thought loved me.