Making the Bed

Her hand glided over the sheet, smoothing out the wrinkles, softly restoring the bed to the illusion of normalcy. She tells herself that everything is okay, that he’ll be back, he’s only in the next room, taking a shower, or maybe he left early for work. She plumps up the pillows, setting them side by side at the head of the bed, covers them with the bedspread, hiding them for another day. The spread feels light in the morning, but so heavy each night when she pulls it back to reveal the emptiness reflected inside her.

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