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Rukevwe’s fingers ran across the glossy frame, tracing outlines along the pictures of that once irresistible face. That face, which had probably been carved by God himself. She reminisced about how those full, succulent lips would stretch into a bewitching warm smile and how those dimples would bore deep into those soft cheeks. Cheeks she never got tired of raining kisses, even on days when they weren’t on good terms.

He had been her life. Her sole purpose in life was to find him, and without him, her life was empty, clouded with rays of darkness, and drowned in an ocean of pure grief and non-existence.

The livid view of his fading face still clung to her memory like magnets to a steel rod. The uncertainty in his eyes as his almost numb body lay there propped up at different angles with different tubes in and around him. She had seen the naked desperation in his eyes and the looming fear. The fear he tried to conceal in a coat of masculinity. The fear he tried to suppress just to give her the assurance that he was alright and that he would be fine. But she hadn’t been born yesterday, and even if she had, she knew too well what was happening. She had seen how his eyes bulged out. How his pale tongue stuck out and how his chest heaved up and down in a slow, jerky motion.

He had been dying. He was trying so hard to fight, but he had failed. He failed so hard, and now she wished he hadn’t. She wished he had fought a little longer. He wished he had stayed a little longer. Now, he had left her all alone to the scorn of her in-laws and venomous-tongued relatives. She saw the life seeping out of her only son, and she couldn’t do anything to stop it.

under the sheets
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