The End of the Line?

The medicine cabinet's door clicked as its magnet paired with the frame's, and Adam stared at himself. Holding his image with his eyes, he rotated his head slowly to stare at the bright welt across the whole side of his face, bumpless and redder than razor burn.

The argument didn't require loud just as a silencer doesn't affect the deadliness of the fired bullet. Every disonant moment in their relationship came to mind, like grouped strands becoming braided and the braids becoming part of a rope, and all of the goodness they shared incorporated into other grouped strands completing the rope.

The silent conversation continued in, and with, Adam's eyes, 'Is she...are we...is life worth it.'

Was a noose tolling their end at the terminus of this rope, or was it a dangle of hope and promise, a rescue line onto which he could affix a grip, pulling himself, pulling both of them with all he had as promised in his vows to her, up from the daunting chasm into which their marriage had fallen.