He opens the door and sees her there. In her nightgown, she is standing in front of the refrigerator with a piece of raw meat in her bony hands. She is trembling and searching for nothing in it. She doesn’t hear the door opening. He soon notices that her feet are wet and dirty. He turns his head to the left and peeks through the small glass doors that lead to the balcony. He then regrets to see some of the flowers lying on the floor. Some still have the usual dew from the early hours of the day and the roots seem intact, still perserving their fibrous systems. He sighs.
“Good morning, Mar. I see you’re up and hungry.”
She turns to see him. Her dazed eyes look tired. She is not surprised to see him. He closes the door behind him and leaves his keys and the grocery bags near the stove. He walks slowly towards her and grabs her by the waist, her waist that is so small and fragile. He takes her to the living room.
“Come, honey. Sit here on our favorite couch. Take this blanket and just be here with me.”
With trembling hands, she takes the blanket and drops the meat to the floor. He goes to close the refrigerator door. Fur, their cat, takes advantage and steals the piece of meat. Silently, he drags it to this basket.
He returns to her. “Are you cold? Are you feeling better now?”, he asked her, trying no to sound undisturbed and knowing that he won’t get any answers.
“I’m sorry about the flowers”, and she starts crying, hiding herself under the blanket. He feels so sorry for her and for himself. He knows this is one of those bad days and he only needs to be patient and wait for her to cry herself to sleep. Sometimes she really does, sometimes she pretends. Today she hums while pretending to sleep. He decides to get help.
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