Photo Story No. 10

“What do you want from me John?” Mina puffed on the last of her Camel and threw it into the dirt.

“I want you back, Mina.” John dropped to his knees and rested his hands on her thighs. “You have to come out of this hole you’re in.” Mina stood from the plastic crate she was seated on and brushed his hands from her lap.

“I don’t have to do a damn thing John. I’m here. What more do you want from me?” She leaned her back on the shed and crossed her arms across her torso.

“You’re here, but you aren’t present, you aren’t WITH me.” John stood and faced her. “You’re in your head,” he said softly and tucked her hair behind her ear.

“You shouldn’t have let her do it then, John. You shouldn’t have let her kill our baby.” Mina’s face was frozen cold. No wetness in her eyes. No crease in her brow. A platonic, emotionless expression met John’s.

“Do we have to do this again? How was it my fault? I didn’t know what was going to happen.” John backed away from Mina and sat on the crate next to her. He dropped his head in his hands and let out a heavy sigh. “My mom’s dementia had never been that bad before.”

“And if you hadn’t left them alone, she wouldn’t have given her a nap in the sink,” Mina replied. She closed her eyes and imagined their baby girl curled up in her arms. She was the most precious baby anyone had ever seen, and she had just turned six weeks old the day John’s mom visited. He left his mom to hold Clara while he started the car to warm it, and his mom walked to the cold dishwater with Clara and set her in.

It made Mina sick to imagine what she went through. Whether it was fast and she filled her lungs with her first attempted breath, or if holding her breath was instinctual, even at her young age, and she tried to fight it. Mina lurched over and let out a choked gag and covered her mouth with her hands. “I can’t do this anymore John.”

“You can’t give up on us Mina. My love for you hasn’t changed.” John still had his head in his hands. He stood to plead with her. When he did, he was face to face with the end of a magnum revolver, and all six chambers were loaded.

“That’s funny. Mine has,” she said, and squeezed the trigger.

 

THE END

 

Copyright WB Welch – All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

To see the photo that originally inspired this story, visit the Instagram link below.

Photo Story No. 10

 

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