holdouttrout: not your ordinary fish (Default)
Since no one had prompted me yet, I prompted myself. The prompt word I acquired through a super scientific process was “tears.”



She was not going to cry.

She was not going to cry.

There wasn’t anything to cry about. She wasn’t looking at pictures of cute puppies or reading heartwarming stories about people going to extraordinary lengths to help their neighbors. It wasn’t Neal’s first day of kindergarten, which had been a very good excuse to lock herself in the bathroom for a few minutes and sob, remembering the utterly confident look he’d had as he bolted from her into the classroom. It wasn’t finding Emma again, which had been completely surreal and everything and then so, so hard.

No.

It wasn’t anything that made logical sense.

She looked up at her husband, who was holding out a bouquet of gorgeous but perfectly ordinary white roses, roses he’d bought for her “just because,” which was something he did every once in a while, so why was she crying?

David looked at least as confused as she felt.

“Snow, they’re just flowers,” he said.

Snow sniffed. “I know!” She sniffed again. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. The last time I got like this I was pregn–”

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