Moving softly over the thick carpet, I make my way around, until I can see her face. Thick-waisted now, she moves awkwardly, still trying to turn from me. But there’s no hiding the puffed eyes, the streaks through her make-up.
I pull up a chair, sit by her. “Is there anything I can do?”
Her long hair rustles as, face downcast, she shakes her head. “No.” The syllable is choked, spoken through a tight throat. She shudders and a sob escapes. “Oh, god, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” And her control fails. Bending over on herself, shuddering and shaking, she collapses into tears. “It’s not fair. It’s not fair. We had so little time. He left to do what he felt he had to. But I believed he’d come back. I really did.”
As I wrap my arms around her, Michael appears at the door, stares, then mouthes a
