She watched as the bubbles popped between his tiny fingers and toes. The warm water washed away his day as the wine washed away hers. Each sip was a reminder of the things she didn’t get around to starting or finishing that day, that week. She gazed at him lovingly, his splashes flicking onto her face and his teeth being soothed by the scratchy surface of the washcloth. If she took her eyes off him for just a moment, her concern was not that he would drown, but that she would; she poured another glass.
FlyInMyWine 