You tug pristine shirts from hangers and crumple them into a case.
‘Please don’t go.’ I hear the tremor in my voice.
‘I don’t want to.’ You sit on the bed and run your thumb over my cheekbone. ‘I want you, I want us. I’m just not ready for this.’ You gesture towards my stomach.
‘I’m tired of fighting.’
‘Me too.’ You kiss the top of my head. ‘Shall I make the appointment?’
‘No. Don’t.’ My words are loud and clear.
Your eyes lock onto mine. I blink back unshed tears and dig my nails into my palms as I watch you leave.
Written for Friday Fictioneers. A 100 word story inspired by a photo prompt. Read the other entries here.