Sometimes heartbreak isn’t of a romantic nature….

His small body shakes with the violent force of his sobs.

She holds him close, stroking his back in small circles.

“Shhhh….shhhh…”

It was as if he is an inconsolable infant again. Something is wrong, but she can’t fix it.

Silent tears stream down her own face, pooling on the pillow beneath his head, mixing with his tears until a small pool soaks through the pillowcase.

She holds him close, stroking his back in small circles.

“Daddy!” He cries, over and over.

Her thoughts turn hateful.

How could he do this to my precious child? He doesn’t know what this is like. He doesn’t know what it’s like to be the one to comfort this child. He doesn’t know what it’s like to not have the words. To not be able to make the child understand. He should be here right now. He should be the one dealing with the tears. 

The reasons don’t even matter at this point, moments before midnight. Nobody can be at fault. They are all struggling with the consequences of years and years of choices. They are all suffering in their own way.

She holds him close, stroking his back in small circles.

The only thing that matters at this point, moments before midnight, is the inconsolable child sobbing loud and uncontrollable tears. The child who doesn’t understand divorce, unemployment, welfare, custody.

She holds him close, stroking his back in small circles.

Until he hiccups back a few sobs. Until his tears dry on his cheeks. Until he has drifted into sleep.

She holds him close, stroking his back in small circles.

Until, with utter exhaustion, she falls into a dreamless sleep.

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This weeks’ Red Writing Hood prompt was: We all remember our first love – and our first heartbreak. Your assignment this week was to write a piece where you explore the first broken heart for your character – or for you.

Kleenex, anyone?

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