Ruby shifted the shotgun across her lap and stretched towards her phone. It lit up like a festive decoration, there were so many new alerts arriving. She ignored those, and instead went to messages and started to type.

She pressed send, knowing that by the time Harry read it in the morning, it would be too late.

Then she turned the phone off for good. Set it beside the ‘Book of Hate’.

Today’s the day. I’m going to kill them all. I hate them. I hate them. I hate them, she wrote.

She underlined the words, pressing so hard the pen almost shredded the paper. Did she really hate them, though? She wasn’t sure any more. In fact, she felt like she was trying to persuade herself.

It was time to go through with the plan. So why couldn’t she make herself move?

Drops of water splashed onto the shotgun’s burnished grey muzzle. Ruby looked up at the ceiling to find the leak – then realised she was crying.

She turned the page of her book and scribbled something else. After a few minutes, she had said what had to be said.

Like it or not, she knew exactly what must be done, and lifted the rifle in readiness.

---

Benjamin wiped at the tears. His dad would have told him he was pathetic, but finally Benjamin didn’t care about him. Creeping up his driveway towards his home, the moon and the cold white streetlights silvered everything. The harsh illumination gave him the look of a cadaver, wrinkles etched deep on his face. He held his breath as he eased through his front door, wishing he could move as quietly as Santa Claus.

Mission accomplished. Well, half, at least.

There had been no sound of movement from Kendra’s flat when Benjamin had slipped the note under her door. She would find it when she woke, by which time it would be too late. In his mind’s eye, he could imagine her seeing it, becoming excited, thinking it was a present, opening it and being broken-hearted. He had done that to her and there was no shirking his responsibility. If he could go back in time and relive his life, he would have steered clear of Kendra, so that she could be free to find someone her own age, someone who would treat her well, love her properly, and settle down to give her a family. Those were things he could never give her. Not even if he lived.

Time was up. He had reached the zero hour. He had contemplated waiting until Christmas was over, for the sake of the children, but he didn’t dare, in case he ran out of courage to act. The memory of their wonderful evening together of laughter and games burned bright, leading him towards his final destination. For them, he would find the strength to do what needed to be done.

In his study, he took off his Rolex and dropped it in the wastepaper basket. Then pulled out the old Sekonda his wife had bought him all those years ago, for their first Christmas. Turning it over, he read the inscription.

Ran his thumb over the engraving, as if feeling it as well as reading it would help bridge the intervening years. He nodded as he fastened the strap. Paused for a moment and sniffed hard, then once again started writing; this time, to Dom. His hand shook.

---

Harry stared at the message from Ruby, and his heart hurt it was beating so fast and so hard. He read it again, forcing himself to go slowly, in case his rush led to misinterpretation.

She was going to kill herself.

No way could he let this happen.

He checked on his brothers. They slept peacefully in their bunk beds, despite the excitement of Santa coming to bring them second-hand clothes and third-hand toys.

His mum was on the sofa, sleeping soundly, too. Her forehead smooth of worry, mouth free of the pinch of pain it so often wore.

No one would be disturbed by him sneaking out.

Harry pulled his coat on and hurried into the night, determined to save his girlfriend.

---

Benjamin sat at the desk in his study. He had written and rewritten the letter to Dom and his children. It had taken hours. He’d had to abandon writing it by hand because the pen shaking with emotion made the words illegible. Using the laptop seemed cold and impersonal; yet another decision Benjamin regretted.

Finally, at around 2.30 a.m. he was ready to do what had to be done. He had spent the last hour tidying it, wanting things to be neat somehow, to order his mind. He didn’t want to make things any worse for Dominique than it was going to be.

Really, he knew he was shuffling papers trying to put off the inevitable.

The first aid box was in the kitchen, on a top shelf out of habit, even though the children were too old now to be at risk of thinking any medication was sweets. Benjamin opened it up and took out the stash.

A full packet of ibuprofen. That should do the trick. Plus, four paracetamols, and a handful of sleeping tablets prescribed to Dominique a while back, but she’d never finished the course.

Carrying them back to his desk, he laid them out in front of him. The first pill felt abnormally large on his tongue. He gagged, body rebelling against intention, saliva filling his mouth. Forced himself to take a huge swallow of his favourite, ridiculously expensive whisky. Coughing and spluttering, the pill finally slid down. The next was easier. The third time, he grew bolder, swallowing a handful at once.

Every tablet in the house sat heavy in his stomach. All he needed to do now was wait. He hoped death would be peaceful, and that the sleeping tablets would mean he could drift off and never wake.

The study door was slightly ajar; he must remember to close it before his time was up. But for now, he wanted to sit down. Just for a moment. He’d get up in a minute.

His head lolled back, his breathing growing deeper and slower.

He was a selfish coward for taking this route. He knew that, and the knowledge only made him feel worse. Made him even less likely to swerve away from his destination. He wanted to die. At home. Surrounded by his family.

If only he could go back in time and change things, he would. If he could show his family how much he loved them, he would. If he could be given a reprieve, Scrooge-like, so he could live as a changed man, he would. But it was too late, he thought, as he stared at the ceiling, limbs growing heavier.

His fate was sealed. It was too late to turn back.