'I'm not going to be able to leave the woman with cancer. I'm not the kind of person who leaves the woman with cancer, but I don't know what you do when the woman with cancer is a bitch. Do you hope that the cancer prompts the woman to re-evaluate herself, to take it as an opportunity, a signal for change?'

...
'We're stuck,' she says.
'You bet,' I say.
'No. I mean the ride, the ride isn't moving.'
'It's not stuck, it's just stopped. It stops along the way.'
She begins to cry. 'It's all your fault. I hate you. And I still have to deal with you. Everyday I have to look at you.'
'No, you don't. You don't have to deal with me if you don't want to.'
She stops crying and looks at me. 'What are you going to do, jump?'
'The rest of your life, or my life, however long or short, should not be miserable. It can't go on this way.'
'We could both kill ourselves,' she says.
'How about we separate?'
I am being more grown up than I am capable of being. I am terrified of being without her but either way, it's death. The ride lurches forward.'

— Do Not Disturb, Italic text A . M . Homes, The Best of McSweeney's ©2013