He had written a letter to his ex the night he died: I can’t stand that you are doing things without me. The pathologist found the note in the man’s back left pocket. The note so accurately reflected his own feelings towards his wife that he kept it. His wife was knitting a jumper for him. For the last two years, he crept out at night and unravelled her rows. She had promised to finish it for him five winters ago but never had. He had long ago stopped wanting her to give it to him completed.
