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The Accident

He hadn't seen her in 90 days. She was suffering an affliction: meth or something, for a while. When she came out from behind double doors into the waiting room, he smiled like an exuberant, abandoned pet. She put a forearm into his chestó David, she said.

His family was with him: father, brother, mother. Six months previously his mother and father had nearly divorcedó long gestating malignancy within their marriage had surfaced, briefly, before submerging, preempted by death, looming, pacifying them. His brother had been through his own rehab, gambling or alcohol or sex; he was in his mid-twenties, David's age, but taken by impulse.

Her arm, pushing him away, rested on her protruding belly: pregnant. He got down on his knees and kissed her stomach, crying, Why didn't you tell me? She looked at him and shook her head. She looked at his father.

Story by:

John Wells

15 November 2014