As Lovers Often Do
While I sit on the stool, Isabel lies on the bed, illuminated by September moonlight. I’m tortured by uncertainty. Should I? I approach the bed and gaze down at her. She’s dressed in my favourite nightgown, the one I bought for our silver anniversary. Her dark hair is scattered over the pillows, the beauty of her delicate features impervious to time. She wakes and grimaces. “Is the pain bad?” “Yes,” she confirms. “Don’t let it worry you. I want to do it.” Isabel is adamant, although I’m...