Holding Hands

Content warning (spoiler): suicide (implied)
Originally published in Love Me, Love Me Not by Black Hare Press

They were six the first time they held hands, on the playground swings.

They held hands through high school. Through college. And, as they walked down the aisle after exchanging vows, they held hands too.

“Promise me, you’ll never let me go,” she said the next morning, her fingers laced through his.

They held hands during childbirth. School plays. Graduations. Weddings.

At the doctor.

In the hospital.

During hospice.

Now, as he tips the bottle of poison—first against her lips, then his—he remembers her words from their first night together. He squeezes her hand.

And says, “I promise.”

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