Behind me the door opens, and my frowning wife walks in. She doesn’t say anything, at first, only comes up and hugs me. I feel her belly pressing against my side, feel our child moving there in the darkness of her womb. Her hand reaches up and covers my scar. She’s always cold, but there’s a refreshing chill there in her touch.
“I thought I had killed you,” she whispered, leaning her head on my shoulder.
“You saved me,” I said, “from the curse, and it was your voice that called—” but no metaphor does death justice.
“Come to bed.”
Tale Told 