Your Hand
His breathing had become staggered and spaced. With every breath, she wondered if it was going to be his last. His face was pale and clammy; his hands were cold, so cold. She wrapped her hand around his and kissed his finger tips softly.
‘My beautiful Malaki...’ she whispered, ‘I’ve known and loved you since I was 12. I remember when you held my hand for the first time; you kissed me, gave me a hug and told me that you loved me.’ A tear rolled down her cheek as she spoke, ‘I wish you could stay with me. Grow old with me and be with me when I give birth to our child.’ She eyed the envelope that she had left on the pillow beside his sleeping head. She picked up the envelope, clutching it to her chest, through tears opening it and eyed the words, identifying the sex of their child. ‘I need you Malaki....’ she squeezed his hand, breaking down, ‘I wish we could grow old together and watch our son grow up...’ She brought his hand to her face and she kissed it again, silent for a few moments as the sound of the room was filled with staggered breathing.
‘I’ll never forget you.... I love you,’ she whispered, as she lay down beside him, his hand still in hers as she spent the last few hours with the love of her life .
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