The Final Months


Opening the door the apartment, he looked around before closing it behind him. He set the keys down on the table and took of his jacket and hat walking towards the bedroom.

Turning the light on he set his blood stained jacket and hat on the floor, looking around the room at the few pictures of him and Maia together. He tussled his hair and wiped his face groggy from the stress. He felt awkward in his own home, feeling the emptiness of the room surrounding him, and the quietness of the space. Sitting down on the bed he lay back, looking up at the ceiling and thinking to himself. He lay there still for a moment before getting up and going to nursery in the next room and stopping in the doorway.
He looked around at the crib and the rocking chair next to the window, the stuffed animals on the shelf and the change table and diapers against the wall and thought of how close he was losing his daughter.
"Who'd have thought?" He said to himself remembering the time when he thought he would never get married or have children. "Who'd have thought?" Taking off his shirt he walked to the bathroom and ran the shower water hot. Taking off his socks, pants and boxers, he threw them on the floor and stepped under the running water. He thought to himself about what the doctor had said about Maia not wanting to wake up and face the world and about how the person who had done it was still on the street. The more he thought, the more the other images crowded his mind until the steaming water had to wash his tears away.
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