Prompted by: Jane Jago
WARNING: This fictional storyline may contain very disturbing situations, dubious consent, and graphic violence.
It’s too late.
By the time I turn the corner…
“Daddy home! Daddy home!”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
It’s already too late.
The most beautiful little boy in the history of creation is running full tilt toward the most gorgeous man on the face of this entire planet.
I only make it halfway down the hall before I stagger. Halfway down the hall before my knees buckle. Halfway down the hall before my heart stutters and our carefully constructed reality disintegrates into magical fucking faerie dust.
Because my idiot husband does the unthinkable.
He sacrifices himself.
Without a second thought.
He bends over to scoop up the little boy he loves so much.
On the same day he killed the little girl he’ll never know.
And it breaks him.
I can see it.
Love. Hate. Joy. Sorrow. Pride. Shame. Life. Death.
It’s too much to handle all at once. It’s too heavy a load to carry all alone.
I close the remaining distance between us, desperation cracking my voice, “Give him to me.”
There’s a smile on his lips and tears in his eyes as he passes me our son, who buries a gigantic yawn into the base of my neck. Not a surprise considering it’s well past midnight.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, so incredibly fucking sorry. “I didn’t realize he was waiting up for you.”
His hands lift to sign, Not your fault.
“Are you okay?”
No. I want to kill myself.
I frown. “That’s not funny.”
I’m not kidding.
Shooting him a glare of daggers, I gnash my teeth together. More than ready to give him a piece of my mind. Fully prepared to rip him a new one.
But I don’t get the chance.
The asshole curbs my tongue with the softest kiss, barely even touching his mouth to mine. Then drops to his knees and grabs me by the hips, kissing the massive swell of my belly. Before he wraps his arms around us both and finally crumbles at my feet.
There’s nothing I can do.
Nothing I can do as he completely falls apart. Nothing I can do as silent sobs ransack his body. Nothing I can fucking do as his pain and agony sear through the feeble armor of my nightgown.
Who knew tears could burn?
As my skin begins to blister, there’s not a damn thing I can do except weave my fingers into his hair and say…
“I love you, Slim.”
THE END. REALLY.
What’s the prompt for next week, guys?
Make suggestions below. 7 words or less.