Welcome! We continue with my special November Women's Fiction work-in-progress, "Two of Hearts". Only 300 words allowed this week. Thanks for stopping by.
Two hours later, she opened her eyes. If only she could wake up and have it be yesterday. She’d tell Stan not to ride. She’d hide the keys, puncture the tires, if she had to. She yawned, shifting around, stretching her legs. She had to get to the hospital.
Jen stared at the bouquet of flowers Stan had bought for her. She had given in, agreed that he could take the bike out for a spin. The flowers had been the bribe. They lay on the counter, wilted, limp throwing her shallow behavior back in her face. Why hadn’t she held fast?
She flew out the door and into the first taxi she found. When she arrived at intensive care, Stan was lying in bed with tubes going into and coming out of all sorts of places, the same as when she had left him. His left leg and wrist were in casts. It was Monday and the reality of Stan’s motorcycle accident punctured her brain for a second time.
She approached the bed.
“Good morning, darling,” she whispered, leaning over to kiss him.
He was unresponsive. Grabbing her purse, she padded down the hall to the coffee machine. She needed another jolt of caffeine. The coffee was terrible, but it was the only stuff available. Back by his beside, she pulled out a comb and ran it through her long hair. One glance in the mirror at home had told her she looked like hell. She added lipstick. It didn’t help much, but it was all she could do. Jen needed to look good when Stan woke up.
Staring at her handsome husband, she longed to crawl into bed with him. If she could snuggle up under his arm, hear his deep voice, she’d know everything was going to be okay.
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