He wasn't all right, THAT was for sure. After he hung up the phone, he went to his bedside table and got what he needed. He felt the cool, comfortable handle, let it rest in his hand for a second, testing the weight. Then, without a tear, just a feeling of numbness and hopelessness, he put the barrel up to his temple. He looked forward, as if he was trying to convince himself that yes, he WAS going to do this. After all, who would miss him? Who would care if he was gone? The only reason anybody would even find his body, he was sure, would be because they heard the gunshot. Even then, in this neighborhood, that didn't necessarily ensure that anybody would call anybody about it.

At that moment, though, he heard the key go into the door. It opened, and she came in, babbling about something or nothing, he couldn't tell which. He tried to respond, but then she walked by the open bedroom door and ran to him with a shriek. She folded her fingers gently around his, slowly pulling the gun down to the pillow.

He didn't fight her. He just let it happen. He didn't have the strength left to fight for anything, be it death or life. Then, she just slowly folded her arms around his neck, and they both just fell to the bed, sobbing.
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Yes, that's how I feel today.