By Julia Bruce
Standing in the steamy shower, her soapy hands roam the contours of her body the way his once did.
She read once that human skin cells are replaced every three weeks. It’s been twenty-seven days since her husband unexpectedly died: heart attack. She no longer has skin that he touched.
When wounded, the body produces a tangle of collagen fibers. The result is a scar to mark the tragedy. New skin grows, but the scar remains forever.
She also read that only fetal collagen can heal a wound without a scar.
Her hands settle on the small swell of her abdomen.
Love this Julia!!
keep going I want to read more!!
Love this! This sounds like the intro to a longer story. Nicely done.
Love the line, “She no longer had skin that he touched.” Beautiful prose here 🙂
So beautifully executed.
Beautiful moment. I enjoyed this hopeful ending to a loss.
Very nice. I don’t think you needed to add the cause of death. The words and the colon is startling to the fluidity of what comes before and after.
We all want to know what happens next. Great stuff.
Very remarkable evidential imagery. Nice, Julia, you stole the show.