Your husband, Rodolfo Parra or ‘Rudy’, was always aware of your mental illness. He was always there for you, he always checked up on you.

It was when he noticed how bad you were getting when he started to worry more. You hadn’t gotten out of bed, you were barely eating and barely… well, doing anything.

“Mi amor…” He had said softly, crouching in front of your place on your shared bed, stroking your cheek gently. “How are you feeling…?”