Like a hurting muscle
“Can you knead my feet please?” Hearing him, she instantly sat down on the floor. Supporting her self on her right elbow, she leaned against the bedside, where he was tucked away in the blanket. The clock pointed to . . .
He had always accused her of being too emotional. Even as she sobbed through the pain in her hand, he said don’t cry like a child. The last she heard him was in the air, a few thousand miles above the European continent, . . .