the short story project


Something left to love

With the same calmness was the weather on the day I first met him, garbed up in white coat with a stethoscope dangling from his neck as he bends down over a bed in the children’s ward playing with a special care child and eliciting soft laughter’s from her tender lips, crossed over, by tubes inserted in her nostrils and hanging over her ears. It was a beautiful sight, seeing a man who truly cares, not just for his career but truly care about his patients. But humans are made of marbles, it’s hard to tell exactly which marble, when removed will cause a domino effect. As it turns out, for my husband Mark Killawell, it was his job.
I’ve thought about leaving a couple of times, thought about ending it all a couple of times but it’s not really his fault. Loosing his job made him so, threw him in a spiral, even still, knowing that, I nurse the idea of leaving for good. An idea that fills me with guilt, every time I see him playing with the neighbour’s kid, throwing him up in the air and catching him, wrestling the eight year old critter on our mowed lawn, and oh! the giggling of the little rascal; it sends a wondrous feeling reverberating through my core, dispersing me of my thoughts and even forcing a smile through my recently busted lips. It isn’t his fault, the world is responsible for his change.

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