1980

You and your husband John Lennon were walking back to your shared apartment in New York. You held onto his arm as the two of you walked, trying to relieve an uneasy feeling you felt deep down. John had a cigarette in his hand, smoking it as he patted your side occasionally. That was until you saw a man out the corner of your eye, and you turned around to see him holding a gun.

“Mister Lennon!” The man shouted, and you heard five steady shots fire into the air.

John made some sort of noise, similar to a grunt, and dropped his cigarette, falling down to the ground. He furrowed his eyebrows, and looked down at his chest, his hands slightly shaky.

“I’m shot.”