I knew I needed to change, and I have, but it was all naught, yet not. "He" needs to die. "She" cannot hope to thrive while being completely delusionally dependant on him for what is wholly unneeded now. She knows this, and yet she can't bring herself to change yet again. She doesn't want to be left alone again. She doesn't want to hurt again. But she has to.
"In all is death, and nothing is whole again."