A Writer’s Book of Days — Day 25

I skipped writing over the weekend and yesterday, but I wrote on Monday so here’s that entry. I’ll also have today’s up later tonight:

Prompt: A word left unspoken (175 words)

That morning, Mariah woke up to her baby’s silence. Usually, the sky would be a dusky blue when she heard Thomas’ warbling squall. She’d make it to his crib just as his cry reached crescendo, and his tears and sniffles and hiccups would peter out against her shoulder.

Today, early dawn crisscrossed the bedroom floor in stripes of light and the house was silent. Her husband, Franklin, slept on beside her, one arm curled under his pillow, the other thrown carelessly over her thigh. It was easy for Mariah to slip out from beneath his hand, and she quietly pulled on her robe and padded down the hall to the nursery.

Thomas was sleeping as all infants do — on his back, tiny fists splayed beside his head in a sign of victory. It made her smile, and Mariah leaned over to brush a knuckle across his warm cheek.

Except his cheek was cold, kind of rubbery, and tinted gray. Mariah moved that same knuckle to Thomas’ slightly parted lips and felt no air passing through.



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