And along with her tears, the pending ache of crying, she wrote, 'You hate me. You hate me. You hate me', on every piece of paper in the house and when she finally ran out of paper, she turned to the walls until they were full. Then, out of desperation, she took a sharpie and on every furniture, appliance and floor she wrote, 'You hate me. You hate me. You hate me.' And with her last final effort she wrote above her bed, in a beautiful Scarlet, 'You hate me. That's OK. I hate you too.'