Hands
by Jewell Phenakite
Maria didn't think he noticed her staring at him. He was sitting with his head down near the bed and was holding her hand. He looked so tired. All those years had gone by in an instant, but she loved every second of their life together. For the first time, he seemed old to her. She usually though of him as the teenager she once knew. In her mind, he had never really changed. She had loved him for so long, ever since that first day. He told her things she wasn't even sure Max and Isabel, his best friends, knew. She'd been his best friend for some time now and he was hers. Back then she never would have guessed he'd stay for the long haul, but he was always there.
When he lifted his head to look at her, he had tears in his eyes. She had to wonder because he never cried. She knew how happy he was when they married and when their children were born, but the only time she ever saw him cry was after the incident with Hank over a lifetime ago. Of course they'd been blessed; they hadn't had much to cry about over the last few decades.
She could see him still clutching her hand. At this she promptly looked down at hers and smiled. She understood now; she had to go. She brushed her hand over his shoulder and started to leave, "Don't be to long Michael Guerin, I'll be waiting."
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