Her gaze is concentrated on tying a thread around her finger, eyebrows scrunched together. In her lapse of awareness, I admire her features. The face I’ve come to love over the years.
My hand itches to reach over and smooth out her brow, but it remains clenched in my lap. Again, that persistent voice.
Tell her, tell her, tell her. Upon noticing my attention, her eyes flash up to meet mine.
“What?” she asks innocently. A small smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
Tell her, tell her.