Days Between Stations

She wanted him to say something. She wanted him to say it was alright, but more than that she wanted some ridiculous sort of reassurance that somehow it all didn’t matter. The enormity of what she’d done hadn’t sunk in. She hoped he wouldn’t hate her, and she could take some relief in that, because he didn’t hate her, there was nothing in his face like hatred, only disbelief; he stood up from the bed not looking at her at all; and she’d suddenly realized he was leaving, and she was simply astounded by it. It simply didn’t occur to her that whatever had been dome or said could mean he was going to walk away now and be gone from her. It never crossed her mind for a moment that these were the last moments she’d ever lay eyes on him. She reached for him as he turned to go, and he bent down and kissed her gently and quickly.

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