The tell-tale nausea washes over me as I merge onto the highway. I grip the wheel with damp palms, training my bloodshot eyes on the road. Just 90 more minutes.
For over two years, all day every day, it’d been the three of us–through first smiles and first steps, through lockdowns and loss. A four-day work trip had felt immeasurably long.
Days before my departure I came to you upstairs–my breath quick, my shirt damp–and shared the news. I expected panic. But you pulled me close, your chest smelling faintly of soap and woodsmoke.
We’d embrace this next adventure, together.
About the Creator
Aleta Davis
Policy analyst, mother, and aspiring gardener trying a hand at short fiction. On twitter @aleta_rose.
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