She shared only fragments of her worries with him and he knew in an instant that his focus on the present kept her going.
“Just tell me something. Tell me, tell me, tell me,” he whispered beneath her ear. His nose crushed against her earlobe. He breathed deeply taking in the scent of her. His arms filled up with her broken frame. Tell me.
He wouldn’t allow her to disappoint his image of her ethereal and beautiful sicknesses.
“I’ll make you soup, and you’ll light a fire, and this won’t ever stop,” he said softly.
And it didn’t until she found the moment to let go of the words he had forgotten to fear.
Story by P. Barker