The two lovers recline, sweaty, exhausted, bodies entwined.
He clears his throat, says, “That was great. You’re really something, ya know?”
She arches her back, moves her leg off his. Whispers, “You too.” Now is not the time to get into it. She forces a smile, says, “I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll be here,” he says. Pats her butt as she stands up.
She stares into the bathroom mirror above the sink. My god, how you’ve changed. It’s not the deepening lines. Or her marble green eyes, getting weaker, fuzzy. It’s not the minute scar on her neck, her last melanoma removed.
Nothing will appease the growing pit in her stomach. It gnaws at her from the inside out. No longer a blind spot, it defines her.