The Swan Wife, by Adrienne Clarke. Page 7/8
Wife:
I run my fingers over it with the lightest of touches, scarcely daring to breathe for fear it will crumble in my hands. My touch is not as soft as it once was – my hands once smooth and white are now red and roughened from diaper changes, washing dishes, and scrubbing floors. But now that I hold the dress in my hands I think of nothing but the feel of feathers against my skin. I want to be safe and warm again like I was when I ate, slept and dreamed alone in the forest. But still something in me hesitates. I am not ready yet. Upstairs in her crib Lena is beginning to stir. In a moment she will call out for me, her arms outstretched, waiting for me to come to her and start our day. And then I will climb the stairs, open the door to her room and go to her as I always do – won’t I?
