Take Care, Sara

starving.”
    “Isn’t pizza what we ate the last time we were together?” she asked.
    “Not even comparable. This is Papa Murphy’s . In case you didn’t know.”
    Sara stood, releasing his hand. “Right. Incomparable to all other pizzas.”
    “Exactly.”
    “Where are my twenty-eight candles?” Sara innocently blinked her eyes at Lincoln.
    “You want a pizza or a torch?”
    Sara laughed. “Smart ass.”
    ***
    She woke up with a smile on her face, forgetting about him and instead thinking of the day before spent with Lincoln. It had been a good day. The smile slid from her face as the heaviness in her heart grew. How could Sara have forgotten, even for a moment, even in sleep? She sat up; staring at the blank TV she hadn’t turned on in months. Everything had stopped, paused, on that day over a year ago. Especially Sara.
    Was it really happening? Was he really in that hospital bed, waiting to die? While she pretended her life was fine and laughed with his brother and he rotted away in a sterile room. Sara hung her head as warm tears trickled from the corners of her eyes. He’d been gone for a long time, but where it really mattered he’d left her long ago. It didn’t matter . He was still her husband; he was still her burden or joy to bear. Sara hugged herself, imagining it was him hugging her.
    Sara got up, unable to take herself in the direction of the bathroom and into the shower. Her mouth tasted like stale popcorn and pizza and she was sure she didn’t smell the greatest. Sara didn’t care. She wandered around the house in her robe, making a pot of coffee, and staring at all the closed doors.
    “One day you have to open them.”
    She clutched the edge of the kitchen counter, closing her eyes. Sara had been wondering when the voice would show up again to torment her. Shivers went up and down her body and her scalp prickled.
    “You’re not real. Whoever, whatever you are, you’re not real,” she whispered. Sara opened her eyes, forcing herself to turn around and confront air.
    Sara took a deep breath, reaching into the cupboard for a cup. She pulled his favorite one down, resting her forehead against it and closing her eyes. It was pale blue with white letters that read: Addicted to Caffeine. It was tacky, but he’d loved it. It was silly to feel closer to him by using his favorite coffee mug, and yet Sara did. It was a connection to him, however small.
    She sat at the table, misery adding a slump to her shoulders, grief pulling her head down. Sara sipped the coffee, not really tasting it. It was hot, warming her body, but other than that, it might as well have been water. Thoughts went to Lincoln and Sara wanted him to not come over to pull her from herself, not this day. This day belonged to her melancholy.
    Sara knew he’d come regardless of what she wanted and she knew he’d make her laugh and make her feel something other than pain and she wanted to resent him for it, but couldn’t. When she was with Lincoln, she felt closer to normal; Sara felt closer to alive; even if it was an illusion, even if it never lasted for long.
    All those dreams they’d had together; the house, the children, the life they’d planned on living together; all of it had been a lie; an unknown one, but a lie just the same.
    “Why did you leave me?” she whispered to the emptiness of her house, knowing because she wanted an answer, this time there would be none.
    The knock came. Sara ignored it, staring into the black depths of her coffee. Go away, Lincoln. You make it worse by giving me joy only for it to be snatched away as soon as you go.
    Her head began to pound along with the door and Sara finally gave in, unlocking and opening the door to see a furious Lincoln staring back at her. A tick throbbed in his jaw as he glared down at her with his stormy eyes. “Why…didn’t you…answer…the door?” he ground out between clenched teeth.
    Sara didn’t say anything, simply turning and walking away to let him enter.
    Lincoln followed her inside, shutting the door harder than he needed to. “You can’t just not answer the door, Sara. I need to know…I need to know you’re okay.”
    “I’m okay,” she said, crossing her arms defensively. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have Thanksgiving with your parents or something?”
    “No.”
    “Why not?” Sara asked, curious.
    “Don’t worry about it. Going back to feeling sorry for yourself, are you?” He whipped the stocking cap from his