Torn

I looked at my husband.
He was crying like a baby, the sides of his face in my hands, his four days old stubble grazing my palms.
At that moment, the line between romantic affection and motherly love wasn’t there anymore and my heart went out to him like he was my own kid.
I felt like I was dying of cancer, not by suicide, and that he was my four year old son.
It was as if he had been looking at the doctors coming at our house for days and although he hadn’t quite figured out what really was wrong yet, he knew in his heart that his mother was going away, somewhere very far.
All I could think of was how he would get very lonely soon.

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