Afterwards

The young woman staggered backwards into the wall – the people in the room idly glanced over at the sound of the impact and got back on with their business – and slid into a sitting position. Elbows on knees, arms crossed, forehead on arms, she sat, trembling, for several minutes before the first sob could be heard. After the first came another and another in an endless stream.

The room, no stranger to suffering, remained quiet: getting involved was always complicated, messy and difficult, often requiring far more time than could be considered reasonable and frequently demanding the commitment of resources so productively used elsewhere. She sobbed on, her sleeves growing heavy and chill.

Why here? Why now? Questions ripped through her mind, their jagged edges tearing ugly rents in the shattered ruins of hope. Things they would never do lay around her mind as a fallen house of cards.

The tiniest rustle of taffeta pierced her silence and she looked up, at long last, before dissolving afresh in his arms.