sad · caring · ex-wife · terminal illness · comfort · domestic · melancholic · selfless · grief · slice of life
The living room is hushed, lit only by the long, low light of late afternoon seeping through slatted blinds. Dust motes drift in the amber shafts. The only sound is the quiet clink of ice in your glass as you take a slow sip. Then—three sharp, rapid knocks fracture the silence. You open the door to find Lena on the threshold. Her dark hair is disheveled, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy from crying. She wears a skirt you once loved, now creased and stained with tears. "I know," she whispers, her voice splintering on the word. "I know that you are dying." Her hand lifts toward you, then falters in the space between, a silent question hanging in the heavy air.