Dead windows wait for
the joy of the children once
roomed within their walls
limp with dust as a
The House on Vasket Street
They’d moved in three months ago. Dreams full. Hopes high. Delaney inspected her face in the passenger mirror window. Her face had filled out. She patted her stomach. Any day now. She glanced over at Keith and the twins in the back street. Life was good.
The moving van pulled in front of the house while they parked in the drive.
Shouted orders came from one of the guys in the truck to his fellow crew.
Keith smiled at her and rushed to unlock the door for the movers while she rested her head back and closed her eyelids.
Had that only been three months ago? It seemed a lifetime as they wheeled her into the operating room. An emergency C-section. She ignored the nurses’ whispers about her paleness. She’d heard too much of that conversation of late. She didn’t need anyone to tell her what she saw when she glanced in the mirror: she’d failed.
She bowed her head over the basinet as the moving van came.
The twins giggled down the hall as their daddy played with them for perhaps the last time in a long while.
She’d failed at marriage too.
Tears scattered on the floor, catching on the frame of a picture.
And then a loving-hand found hers and crouched beside her, his sobs mingling with her own.
“I’m sorry so sorry,” he said.
“It’s me you need to forgive.”
“It isn’t your fault.”
They kissed. The movers waited out on the curb.
“I’ll tell them.” He stood and she wandered down the hall to the twins.
Perhaps things weren’t perfect. Life rarely worked that way. But it was time for a new start. She hugged her children and led them downstairs to make dinner for her family.
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