The Silence

She sat and stared out the window, a half-drunk cooling cup of coffee in her hand. The morning’s argument replayed in her mind, an echo from which she could not escape.

“Do you love me?”

“You know I do.”

“Then why don’t you say it?”

“Don’t you know it? Don’t I show you? Isn’t that enough?”

“Then why can’t you say the words?”

Her silence. His turning away.

The sound of cars as they passed down the street brought her back to the present, and her problem. It was never enough. It would never be enough. The words stuck in her throat, as if saying them aloud would make her vulnerable. Silence protected her.

But.

If she said nothing, she would lose him. She saw that cold fact in the hurt in his eyes. Somehow she would have to find a way to say those words. Lost in thought, she remembered her coffee, and moved to the kitchen to refill her cup.

She paused mid-pour.

“That might do it. It just might.”

She smiled and started making plans.

*

At dinner that night, the silence sat heavily at the table, an unwelcome guest. With a sigh of relief, she cleared the dishes and brought a bowl out from the kitchen. He looked at the slightly misshapen folds of dough and confusion was clear on his face.

“You made fortune cookies?”

“Try one.”

Eyebrows raised, he picked one from the bowl and cracked it open.

“I love you,” he read aloud, and looked up at her, smiling.

The Silence

coriejconwell

Joined January 2008

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  • elisab
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