There’s that crease she gets above her nose when she moans about crumbs in the kitchen.
She shivers, and flicks her head against the sun that pierces the curtains.
A lifetime ago, our wedding was beauty; silk and laughter. The later birth, a pulsing, bloody terror. I held Thomas until he drifted away. Held her closer.
We were nothing, she’d say. Our suffering of no account. To me, it was everything. It consumed.
Love, you were right. You are everything.
Did she feel my thoughts? Distant eyes on mine, she breathes.
Again, love. Please.