By Rebecca Skinner

It was the third night since he arrived at her home. No longer could she breathe in the tranquillity of her refuge, lazily eyeing the dust motes spiralling in late afternoon sun from her place on the couch.

His things littered each room of the apartment, not only the one allocated to him. All of her being prickled with an awareness of him,extending to whichever corner of the house he occupied, awake or asleep. There was no respite.

He had barely looked her in the eye since the moment he had arrived. Orders were given randomly, at all hours of the day and night, with no regard to common politeness. Communicating in a tongue incomprehensible to her,his voice became louder and louder as she dissolved like an aspirin, spinning around in her confines, blindly bumping surfaces as she raced to accommodate his needs, just hoping she would get it right.

And yet, through all of this, she loved him.  As he drifted off to sleep in her arms she gazed at his little lashes fluttering against translucent skin that had only seen the light of day for one week. The little lashes of her newborn son.