The Scale
Kimberly Ruth

Third day in a row, he said. He thought of balloons and the way they rise to flame. I'm late, she said, looking down past her belly. I can drive you, but maybe you ought to walk, he said. Okay, she said, as he wrapped her in white scarves.

He kissed her on the forehead and waved goodbye, stayed at the door until she was no longer, only the trail of heavy boots in the light snow. The air was cold, uncomforted.

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