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FICTION in Lit Up
The House Without Her
Still ensnared by the quiet of the night, he reached across the bed to the other side. Eyes closed. A single teardrop clung to the corner of his left eye. His hand brushed against a pillow.
Another. Then another.
Just pillows.
God, you’ve filled this house with crap. Where are you by the way?
His eyes snapped open. Realization crept into his senses like an intruder. A heaviness settled in his chest.
They’d come for her today.
He didn’t want it to happen. But he didn’t have a choice, did he? She didn’t make sense anymore. She needed help.
It started the morning they found their six-month-old daughter lifeless in her crib.
They were both devastated — of course they were. But they held each other close, convinced that love, or maybe time, would be enough. They were young. The future still whispered promises.
Until one evening.
He came back from work and found her at home — delirious with joy.
“Our baby came back. I just fed her. Ssssshhhhh she’s sleeping now.”
