I'll put her to sleep with chloroform. She'll miss the apocalypse. I won't. I'll go to some rooftop and embrace the fire. Me, a bottle of vodka, being taken by fire. People will freak out like little faggots down on the streets and I will be calm and waiting to be taken by stupid fucking death.
I'd probably recant every suicidal thought I've ever had and have a religious rediscovery in hopes of being spared. Were that to work, I'd probably kill myself a few weeks later realizing I blew a great opportunity.