The drive home

Driving through the downpour, I think about the last night I saw my husband alive.

We’d just had a fight, and I had finally accepted that he will never want children.

“I need some air,” he said.

“If you leave, don’t even think about coming back!”

He ignored my threat and slammed the door behind him as a crack of thunder pierced the silence that remained.

Hours later, the police came knocking. His car was caught in the storm.

He was gone.

Inside me the little one turns and flips.

“Easy does it.” I pat my stomach. “We’re almost home.”

© Nortina Simmons

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