And The Silver Spoon
"Oh God,"" you blurt out. "I'm so sorry,"" you insist.
She scoffs, shaking her head. You hastily close the window behind you and kneel in front of her, taking her hand.
"Please, Fran, I promise you this wasn't on purpose."
"Purposeful or not, I'm still hurt," Franny argues back. You feel like an idiot.
"I promise I'll make this up to you tomorrow. But...for tonight, I really need you to fix me up. Some of these wounds are critical."
She stares ahead distantly, making a decision. Your heart stops.
"Wait, Fran," you say, trying to reason with her as she stands suddenly and makes her way for the door.
"There won't be a tomorrow, Michael."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm done."
"Done with what?"
She pauses in the doorway, deadpanning at you. You stare back desperately, but she doesn't budge.
"Done being needed."
You watch her intently as she drapes her coat over the arm and steps onto the stoop.
The door slams. You stand in silence for a second, numb to what's just happened.
You tiredly stumble into the kitchen. The anniversary dinner Franny made for you both, the one you were supposed to make, is sitting on the counter in neat Tupperware containers, cold. A bouquet of flowers lies stem-up in the trash can.
Franny is gone. You are alone.