Chill from the doorknob penetrated my fingers and palm, amplifying the sullen weight that already pressed upon me. Air escaped my lungs between flaccid lips, a remorseful prayer for guidance.
I pushed the door, leaden feet stumbling forward.
Our hand-stitched bedspread lay disheveled across the rutted mattress, littered with tissues crumpled and twisted. My wife’s lavender pillowcase condemned me through tear-sodden lace.
Heidi’s delicate shoulders bowed against drawn knees; her auburn hair tangled and mussed.
I had been the cause of this.
“Look,” I swallowed, the motion tearing my constricted throat, “I didn’t mean …” My voice trailed away, lost among boulders of shame.
She rocked to the uneven rhythm of sequestered agony; her moist gaze buried, withdrawn.
I stepped near, trembling. “It wasn’t like I …” But the words flickered and died, an insufficient candle in a midnight gale.
She blinked, eyes darting to the floor.
I sat on the bed next to her unyielding figure. “Honey,” the utterance struggled past a swelling anguish in my chest, “I …” My cheeks were damp. “I’m sorry.”
Her breath shuddered, sniffling. She placed a hand on my arm.
The warmth was healing.
She laid her head on my shoulder.
The opinions expressed by authors may not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com.
Accept Jesus as Your Lord and Savior Right Now - CLICK HERE
JOIN US at FaithWriters for Free. Grow as a Writer and Spread the Gospel.