I wake before her. It is 10AM. I am
working the midnight shift today. She
sleeps with her left arm behind her
pillow, golden hair everywhere, face
calm as a child. I let her sleep. She
never looks this peaceful awake
anymore. A tumour on the left side
of her brain is what the doctor said
yesterday. Is it curable? We will
have to do more tests.

Christmas Day last week at her
apartment. I brought a pack of Krispy
Kreme donuts. A snowman, Christmas
tree, pudding, and reindeer. She spoke
to each one giving them a playful kiss
before carefully cutting them in perfect
halves. Afterwards we watched a good
Spanish film. She’d never seen a
Spanish film, but laughed out loud at
the ridiculous over-the-top story of
lovers revenge perfectly directed by
Almodovar. She wept a couple of
times, I knew she was thinking about
her son. She always thinks about her
son. He is 9 years old now. She hasn’t
seen him in over a year, leaving an
abusive long-term relationship in
another state to get a better education,
make more money, and take him back,
forever.

“My family abandoned me as a child,
my first husband died in a car crash
less than a month after the wedding,
my son was stolen from me: now
this!” she said through tears on the
way home from the doctors. A few
hours later we made love in silence.
I sat on the balcony with her scans,
looking at them again and again. It
had been raining all day. A beam of
sunshine pierced the heavy cover of
dark clouds hanging above the empty
office buildings. I suddenly remembered
her laughter a week earlier when she
kissed the tiny Christmas tree. Telling
it how much she loved it. Before gently
laying it on the plate.