The Smile

smileBy Dia

The woman sitting across from Steve is dressed young. She is young. At least fifteen years younger than my husband. Emerald eyes and tousled curls, perfect chicklet white teeth. Maybe if I don’t acknowledge her she really won’t be there. Who is she? He’s wearing the smile. The smile I gave him. My heart is pounding as if attempting to escape from my chest. I can’t breathe. I can’t move.

And then I notice it. The newspaper. A series of paragraphs. A tiny photo. It’s me. I died? Shaking, I look back at Steve. That smile. My God, that smile.

Advertisements

3 thoughts on “The Smile

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s