A Farewell Caress
She touched her breast in a farewell caress, the nipple still sensitive. Cocooned in the warm silk sheets she watched her lover sleep, a soft snore and a tiny smile on his lips.
Was this the last time?
A gentle sigh, he was so accepting in his sleep. Why had her faith in him, in them, fled?
As if he could hear her thoughts, the snore faded but the smile remained and he whispered, “You are more to me than a breast. Your breast is just one more layer of flesh that keeps me from touching your heart. Sleep now, we can let it go together, tomorrow.”
Breast cancer is so deeply personal and as with any complex human experience, you and I can never really know what another person is thinking. In this essay, my character has not discussed her fear of disfigurement with her spouse but he knows her so well that her dark thoughts are clear to him. I wanted to celebrate his ability to keep her close, rejoicing in their intimate connection, while still reassuring her that he will not leave her alone as she parts with her breast.
You can find more flash fiction at Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, Addicted to Purple here