For Solo Cello, op. 12

Lowering his hand, Julius opened his eyes. His wife stood silhouetted in the light from their apartment. Her hair hung in loose tendrils around her face, bleached almost colorless by the backlight.

He snatched his keys off the floor. "I'm fine." Julius leaned forward to kiss her before she could notice his shaking, but Cheri turned her head and put a hand to her mouth.

"No. Sorry. I-- I was just sick." A sheen of sweat coated her upper lip.

Julius slid his good arm around her and pulled her to him. "I'm sorry. The baby?" This close, her lilac perfume mixed with the sour scent of vomit.

His phantom hand twitched.

She half-laughed and pressed her head into his shoulder. "Every time I throw up, I think that at least it means I'm still pregnant."

"You'll keep this one."

She sighed as if he had given her a gift. "Maybe. Two months, tomorrow."

"See." He brushed her hair with his lips.