Pear Of Despair [Fiction]

The sigh was long and drawn out. The air in the kitchen felt stiff with bone-deep melancholy. The nine-year-old child in his high chair, playing with his plastic fruits, flinched suddenly. His pear toy slipped from his hands onto the floor.

Chelsea sighed again. Hart's gaze darted between the fallen toy and his mother, uncertain. She watched saliva drool down his chin, her mouth curving down in quiet irritation.

If only the accident did not happen. If only the hospital had not been negligent and saved Collins' life. They would have had a healthy baby and raised him together.

Her phone pinged and she almost cried. It was a text message from that obstinate admirer again. Could anyone put up with her son? With her life? Could she afford another try at love?

“Mm…mm..mama. P..pear. My pear.” Hart pointed to the floor, his adorable soft brown eyes pleading with her.

A single phrase chose that moment to drift through her mind, cruel and painful—my pear of despair.

She shook her head and typed a quick reply to the text, turning down another invitation to dinner. She flung the kitchen towel onto her shoulder and bent to pick up the pear toy.

Hart gave her a toothless grin as he took his toy back. He was her present and the future she had learned not to mourn.

Perhaps some day, she would consider a dinner invitation from an admirer.

I hope you enjoyed reading this short piece. It's inspired by the Freewrite #dailyprompt phrase "the pear of despair".

Thank you for visiting my blog.

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