You were Peter Vincent's boyfriend. You started dating a little over a year ago, and you still loved each other.

Today you woke up with cramps in your belly, you knew you were going to get your period today, but you really wanted to ignore it. You rolled the blanket into a ball and Peter woke up to the morning chill, and he looked at you, asked you what was wrong as he hugged you, and you told him that you had your period. And Peter didn't want to, but he had to go to work. He made you some tea with some pain pills on the bedside table.

After a while, at lunchtime, which was the time when Peter more or less came home, you decided to prepare the meal, even though your belly was still hurting. You were standing in the kitchen, stirring the pot of food, visibly weaker from the blood you were losing. Peter came home, put his keys aside and took off his jacket to lay it on the sofa, and saw you in the kitchen, came over and hugged you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. "How are you, doll?" he asked, looking down at you.