57 likes
66 comments
The wine stopped falling halfway to the floor. Natalie noticed because she had thrown it. Not the wine. The glass. The wine had merely been unfortunate enough to be inside it.
The glass remained above the kitchen tiles at an angle that looked temporary. Red wine curved from its rim in a perfect sheet, each drop separate and motionless.
Scott looked down at it. Neither spoke.
Outside the window, rain hung above the garden in thin silver lines. A blackbird hovered three feet above the lawn, wings spread, head turned slightly as though it had reconsidered the whole business of flight.
Scott reached toward the glass.
“Don’t.”
He touched it.
The glass dropped and shattered.
The wine hit the floor.
Only the wine that had already left the glass remained suspended in the air.
Natalie stared at it. Scott crouched beside the broken pieces.
“Well,” he said. “That seems inconvenient.”
She hated him a little for still being funny. She hated herself more for nearly laughing.
On the table between them lay the letter from the clinic.
His name.
Procedure completed.
Six weeks ago.
Natalie picked it up again although she had already read it enough times for the words to become shapes.
“Say it.”
Scott stayed crouched.
“Natalie.”
“Say it.”
He stood carefully. A shard of glass had gone through the knee of his trousers. There was a shallow cut beneath it. One bead of blood formed and stopped.
“I had a vasectomy.”
She folded the letter once. Twice.
“You had a vasectomy.”
“Yes.”
“Without telling me.”
“Yes.”
“While we were discussing trying again.”
He closed his eyes.
That made her angrier than if he had argued.
“Look at me.”
He did.
“You sat across from me in Dr. Verbeek’s office while she explained the risks of another pregnancy.”
“I know.”
“You held my hand.”
He shifted his weight.
“You asked questions.”
“I know.”
“You let me think we were deciding.”
Scott put both hands on the back of a chair.
“We were deciding.”
“No. I was performing a decision you’d already made.”
The clock above the stove said 18:43. The colon between the numbers had stopped blinking. Natalie watched it.
“Is that clock broken?”
“Probably.”
“The microwave too?”
00:00.
His phone showed no numbers at all. Just the photograph he used as wallpaper: a strip of beach, Natalie squinting into the sun, Scott beside her, and between them the small pink hat they had placed on the sand because neither of them had known what else to do with it.
Natalie turned the phone face down. Scott saw. Neither mentioned it.
She went to the window.
Across the road, Mr. Peeters stood beside his car with one hand raised against the rain. His Labrador was suspended halfway through shaking itself, ears horizontal, a spray of water fixed around its body like cheap crystal.
Further down, a cyclist leaned into the bend.
Nothing moved.
Natalie opened the back door.
“Natalie.”
She stepped outside.
The rain did not touch her until she walked into it. Drops broke against her face. The ones she didn’t touch remained where they were.
She put out her hand and swept it through the air. Water gathered across her palm.
Behind her Scott said, “That’s not possible.”
She turned.
“Excellent. You’ve finally found something we agree on.”
He came outside.
For a while they stood among the rain.
Natalie walked to the gate and looked up.
The clouds had stopped. Not drifting slowly. Not threatening to clear.
Stopped.
Scott checked his phone again.
“What are you doing?”
“Seeing if there’s a signal.”
“Who are you going to call?”
He looked at her.
Fair enough.
Natalie walked away.
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know.”
“Should I come?”
“No.”
He stayed where he was.
That irritated her too.
She walked through the village alone.
She passed a bus with nineteen people inside. A man was asleep against the glass. Two schoolgirls were sharing something on a phone. An old woman held the yellow stop button with one finger.
The bus would never reach the next stop.
The thought arrived without drama.
That was apparently how the end of time worked. No thunder. No celestial announcement. No horsemen.
Just public transport failing permanently.
Natalie sat on the low wall outside the pharmacy.
She waited. Nothing happened. She tried again. Still nothing.
Waiting required something to approach.
There was nothing.
No kettle boiling. No phone ringing. No bruise fading. Grief becoming less sharp because people kept promising it would.
Give it time.
The phrase seemed obscene now.
Scott appeared at the end of the street.
Natalie watched him approach.
“I said don’t come.”
“You said you didn’t want me to.”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t. For a bit.”
“There is no bit.”
“I’m still adjusting to the terminology.”
He sat at the other end of the wall.
A drop of rain rested in his hair.
Natalie stared ahead.
Across the street, a pregnant woman stood at a pedestrian crossing, one hand beneath her belly. Her coat was open. The curve was unmistakable.
Scott had seen her too. His face changed.
Natalie looked away first.
“Do you think she knows?”
“What?”
“That she’s pregnant.”
“I assume so.”
“No. I mean now.”
Scott said nothing.
Natalie looked again.
The woman’s other hand held that of a small girl wearing pink wellington boots. The girl had one foot lifted above a puddle.
She would never put it down.
The woman’s child would never grow larger inside her.
Nothing grew without time.
Nothing healed either.
Natalie touched the pale scar beneath her shirt.
Scott saw the movement.
“Don’t.”
She laughed once.
“You don’t get to say that anymore.”
“I know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because I do.”
“No. You know facts. That’s not the same thing.”
Scott rubbed his hands together although it wasn’t cold.
Or perhaps cold still existed and simply had nowhere to go.
Natalie said, “Were you ever going to tell me?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
His mouth opened.
She looked at him.
He closed it again.
“Right.”
“I was trying to find the right moment.”
“Apparently you missed the deadline.”
That one made him laugh. A small, unwilling sound.
Natalie hated the relief it gave her.
She got up. Scott remained seated.
“Natalie.”
“What?”
“I thought you were going to die.”
She stopped.
Across the street, the little pink boot remained above the puddle.
Scott spoke to the pavement.
“They took you away and nobody would tell me anything. There was blood on the bed. On the floor. One of the nurses changed her shoes.”
Natalie said nothing.
“I remember that.”
“So do I.”
“I don’t think you do.”
Her head turned.
He met her eyes.
“I don’t mean you’ve forgotten. I mean you were inside it. I was standing outside the room while people kept coming through those doors without looking at me.”
“That gave you the right to sterilize yourself?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“It gave me the fear.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“No.”
She started walking again. He followed.
This time she let him.
They passed the church, the school, the small park where someone had left a football in mid-bounce.
At the corner, Natalie turned left without deciding to.
Scott noticed where they were going. He didn’t say anything.
The hospital stood four streets away.
The automatic doors had stopped halfway open.
Natalie squeezed through. Scott followed.
Inside, a cleaner stood with his mop lifted from the floor. A nurse leaned over the reception desk. In the waiting area a toddler had dropped a plastic giraffe. It remained six inches above the tiles.
Natalie walked past all of them.
Maternity was upstairs. She took the stairs.
At the double doors, Natalie stopped. Scott nearly walked into her.
“I don’t want to go in.”
“Okay.”
“I don’t know why I came here.”
“Okay.”
“Stop saying okay.”
He nodded.
She turned on him.
“You decided there wouldn’t be another one.”
His face tightened.
“You decided there wouldn’t.”
“Yes.”
“I was there too.”
“I know.”
“Scott.”
“I know.”
She shoved him. Not hard. Enough to move him back against the wall.
“I held her.”
His eyes dropped.
“You think because I nearly died, you get the larger grief?”
“No.”
“You think because you stood outside the room, you were somehow the one it happened to?”
“No.”
“I held her. She had your ears.”
His face folded.
That stopped her.
Not because she felt sorry for him.
Because she hadn’t seen him cry about Sophie since the hospital.
He covered his mouth with one hand.
The corridor remained perfectly still around them.
Natalie leaned against the opposite wall. Scott wiped his face.
“I couldn’t do it again.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“I know.”
“You could have said no.”
“I tried.”
“You said maybe.”
“You said we should see the specialist.”
“I know.”
“You let me buy vitamins.”
His eyes closed.
The vitamins.
A stupid white bottle beside the coffee machine. She had taken one every morning. He had known.
Natalie looked at him and felt something inside her change shape.
Not soften.
That would have been easier.
“You watched me take them.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I was a coward.”
She waited for an explanation.
None came.
Good.
Scott lowered himself to the floor and rested his back against the wall.
Natalie remained standing.
“I didn’t do it because I didn’t want another child,” he said.
“Don’t.”
“I’m not trying to make it better.”
“Good, because you’re doing badly.”
“I wanted one.”
She looked away.
“That was the problem.”
A tiny plastic giraffe was still there, six inches above the floor.
Scott continued.
“I wanted another baby so badly I started hating one that didn’t exist.”
Natalie looked at him.
“I hated that it wouldn’t be her. Before it even existed.”
She sat down opposite him. Not beside him.
Scott stared at his shoes.
“I thought if you got pregnant, I’d spend every day waiting for something to go wrong. And if nothing went wrong, I’d spend every day feeling guilty that nothing did.”
Natalie pressed her thumb into her palm.
“And you thought I wasn’t afraid?”
“No.”
“You thought I wanted to replace her?”
“No.”
“What, then?”
He looked at her.
“I thought you still believed there could be an after.”
Natalie looked toward the maternity doors.
She had said it herself so many times.
After the funeral.
After the bleeding stopped.
After she could sleep again.
After people stopped lowering their voices around her.
After the first anniversary.
Now there was no after.
Scott rubbed at the dried bead of blood on his knee. It did not smear. It had stopped being blood and became an object.
“So what happens to us?”
“I don’t know.”
“You had a plan for everything else.”
“That was one plan.”
“One permanent plan.”
“Apparently permanent has lost some of its drama.”
She looked at him. He looked back.
Against her will, she smiled. Barely.
Scott did not take advantage of it. One of his better qualities. Occasionally.
Natalie stood and walked to the maternity doors. She put her hand against one. It opened because she pushed it.
Beyond it, the corridor was exactly as it had been.
A doctor stood reading a chart. A man held flowers. A woman in a wheelchair had her head tilted back, laughing at something the person beside her had said.
Natalie recognized the room at the far end.
The door was closed. She did not open it.
Scott came to stand beside her. Not touching.
“I still don’t forgive you.”
“I understand.”
“I may never.”
He almost smiled.
“Strong choice of word.”
She looked at him.
“Right.”
They stood there.
Natalie reached for his hand.
Not because she had decided to stay. Staying required leaving to remain possible.
She held his hand because it was there.
Scott’s fingers closed around hers.
Behind them, the giraffe remained suspended above the floor.
Outside, the rain remained rain without falling.
Natalie looked at the closed door at the end of the corridor.
“What now?” Scott asked.
She considered the question.
“Nothing, apparently.”
You must sign up or log in to submit a comment.
Grief ... especially the loss of a child can make the entire world feel suspended, frozen in time. I agree with the comment that highlighted the empty vitamin bottle; that was the most brutal detail, because it represented hope, possibility, a future with dreams of holding another child in her arms. Scott knew that and could watch her take it without breaking the hidden truth.... ouch. This was a fast-moving dialogue, and you nailed the prompt in showing how time is both slowed down around them, yet their communication as they process the emotional weight of their loss and the vasectomy felt, for them, like it was moving quickly. I think the ending shows there is no “after.” What will be next? Is there anything left for them to move toward? Great metaphor with wor;d still frozen around them!
Reply
I like your point about the two different speeds in the story — the world physically stalled while the conversation itself keeps forcing them forward. And yes, that bottle is cruel precisely because it isn’t just about another pregnancy; it’s Natalie behaving as though a future still exists while Scott already knows he has quietly removed that possibility. Your last question is exactly where I wanted the story to leave them: not at an ending, but with no obvious direction left.
Reply
Stopping time for this particular prompt is pure genius, but what really got me was how you used it to take “later” and “after” away from two people who have been relying on both just to survive their grief. “Waiting required something to approach” is an incredible line, and the eventual realization that “now there was no after” landed beautifully. I also really appreciated that you didn’t turn Natalie taking Scott’s hand into forgiveness or an easy reconciliation. “She held his hand because it was there” was so restrained and human. Really excellent work.
Reply
The way you describe taking “later” and “after” away from them is fantastic — I hadn’t thought of the story in quite those terms, but that’s exactly what the stopped world does to them. And I’m especially glad you read the hand-holding as something smaller and messier than forgiveness. Sometimes contact is just contact, and that felt more truthful for them than any grand gesture could have been.
Reply
Marjolein, I love how well you use short, punchy paragraphs and minimalist dialogue to build emotional momentum. The domestic details—the blinking clock stuck at 18:43, the zeroed-out microwave, the unmoving rain, and the child's pink Wellington boot lifted forever above a puddle—are haunting and stay with you after you're done reading. The ending was a quiet, bittersweet resolution to a story about people trapped by choices they cannot undo. Brilliant work once again. Thank you for a great read.
Reply
I’m especially glad those ordinary domestic details stayed with you. I wanted the world stopping to feel less like a spectacle and more like something quietly wrong inside a very familiar home. And yes — “bittersweet” is exactly where I hoped the ending would land: not forgiveness, not repair, just two people finally standing still long enough to face what cannot be undone.
Reply
The vitamins got me. Of all the huge things happening here — time stopping, the suspended rain, the grief — that stupid little bottle beside the coffee machine somehow feels like the cruelest detail. He watched her take them every morning while knowing there was no possibility behind them. Really well done.
Reply
Thank you, Sander.
That stupid little bottle 😄 was actually one of my anchors. I wondered whether readers would feel how much weight such an ordinary object could carry, so I’m especially glad that was the detail you picked up on.
Reply
Wow Marjolein, this is so powerful!. I read it so fast because the pace, the momentum of the words, propelled me to. What was interesting was that there was two streams of power. The two separate struggles of one partner wanting another child and the other not wanting another child, and the background story of ‘the end of time’, literally! I loved that you weaved the words together throughout the story and your attention to every tiny detail drew you further and further in. This was complex, yet simple, expertly composed and delicately written. A masterpiece of engineering. I expect no less from such an accomplished and brilliant storyteller! (I so wish i had written something as amazing and thought provoking) I think I am going to have to read this again, and again…
Reply
“A masterpiece of engineering” may be the first time one of my stories has sounded structurally sound. I’m keeping that one. Seriously though, the fact that you tore through it and then wanted to go back in means a lot. Thank you for such a generous read.
Reply
The way you have made the world stop in response to this tragedy is brilliant. Metaphor or no, it's such a great image for them to walk through a world that has just frozen in time. Memorable.
Reply
Thank you. I really wanted the frozen world to feel like an extension of what had happened to Natalie and Scott rather than just a speculative device, so “metaphor or no” is pretty much exactly how I hoped it would land.
Reply
I had to do a double read when time stood still. First I loved it then I got angry thinking why hadn’t I thought of that.
The whole story flowed with such ease that I had to force myself to slow down and enjoy every sentence.
I fully understand the feel and the loss you presented the reader. I felt like a fly on the wall watching it progress.
Awesome
Reply
Haha, I’ll happily take “I loved it and then got angry I didn’t think of it first” as a compliment! Thank you. And I especially love that you felt like a fly on the wall — I wanted Natalie and Scott’s conversation to feel intimate enough that the reader almost shouldn’t be there.
Reply
Loved this!! What a beautifully written story! Grief became the third character in the story, suspending time. Natalie and Scott were the catalysts of what little movement was shown. It seemed to foretell that only they can slowly put their world back together. Loved all your descriptive details. It showed ordinary lives, no longer ordinary, with grief controlling all they did. The final question was never answered-could they, separately or together, overcome the grief that has taken over their lives? Very emotionally charged. Wonderful!
Reply
Thank you — I really like your description of grief as the third character. Especially because it is the one thing in the story that seems to have power over both the physical world and Natalie and Scott, while the few tiny movements that remain still have to come from them.
And yes, I deliberately wanted to leave that final question unanswered. Putting their world back together may be possible, separately or together, but I think giving them that answer already would have taken away from where they actually are at the end: not healed, not decided, just moving again by the smallest possible degree.
Reply
Absolutely amazing. The pacing is perfect. The time connection almost incidental to the plot. Really clever take on the trope. “ Natalie reached for his hand.
Not because she had decided to stay. Staying required leaving to remain possible.
She held his hand because it was there.” - is so damn good. Great story!
Reply
Thank you! I love your observation about the time element, although I’m not sure I’d quite call it incidental. For me, the world stopping and Natalie and Scott being unable to move beyond Sophie are really the same idea made literal. But I did very much want the impossible part to feel natural enough that it never became a story about how time had stopped.
And I’m so glad you singled out those final lines. I didn’t want Natalie taking his hand to suddenly mean forgiveness, reconciliation, or even a decision. It’s just the smallest movement possible in a world where nothing moves.
Reply
I mean it only in the way that the conversation, the emotions don’t rely on the time mechanic to happen. That leaves room for a reader to wonder if it’s all metaphor or really happening.
Reply
Ah yes, now I can see what you mean — the conversation doesn’t need the time mechanic to work, and I always try to leave room for the reader to decide how to interpret the story.
Thank you so much, Andrew! That means a lot to me.
Reply
Marjolein, that opening is wonderful. The suspended wine, the rain, the blackbird, and then the clinic letter. With that, you bring the impossible and the intimate together almost immediately.
What stayed with me most is how you turn stopped time into a physical version of grief. “Give it time” becomes almost cruel here, because nothing can move forward, grow, heal, or become an after.
A beautiful and painful piece.
Reply
Thank you. I especially love what you say about “Give it time” becoming almost cruel here. Grief is so often spoken about as something time will somehow take care of, while for Natalie and Scott it has done almost the opposite — Sophie’s absence has kept them stuck in the same place, even before time literally stops.
I’m really glad that connection came through. Thank you for reading it so closely.
Reply
Marjolein, another soul-rattling story.
Like other commenters, I really liked the staccato dialog juxtaposed with the time stoppage.
Weaving in the little cues about the loss they'd suffered - the pregnant woman with a young child, the toy giraffe - was also inspired.
You've captured how this kind of grief, this kind of trauma, can push the button marked "there is no after"...
Wonderfully done, as always.
Reply
Thank you — I really liked the way you connected the stopped time to the grief itself. Sophie may be gone, but neither of them has really moved beyond losing her; they’re still living inside that absence, just in very different ways.
I’m so glad that came through. Thank you for such a thoughtful reading.
Reply
This line summed it up for me. "Nothing grew without time. Nothing healed either" Forgiveness and grief are tied to one another.
Reply
Yes, exactly. That line was really the heart of it for me too — time can be cruel, but without it, neither grief nor forgiveness has anywhere to go. Thank you for picking up on that.
Reply
Before I get to the deeper emotional notes of the story, I want to say I'm obsessed with the visual. The freeze-frame effect of two people having a conversation while walking around a stilled reality is breathtaking. That their topic of discussion mirrors the path they take through the paused present is master-level design thinking.
My favorite line in the whole thing is: "Staying required leaving to remain possible." It's the balanced knife-edge of indecision, or no commitment to either decision that mirrors the knife-edge balance of time. It also exemplifies Natalie's character arc (or as much of one that can develop in such a short period of time— the length of a conversation that will extend well into their relationship). She's betrayed, disgusted in the beginning, then progresses towards acceptance in the conclusion. Excellent, as always.
Reply
Danielle, this is such a thoughtful reading of the story. I especially love what you say about the paused world mirroring the conversation, because that was exactly what I was trying to make the setting do rather than just have it sit there looking pretty. And I’m very happy that line stood out to you — it’s one of those sentences that seemed to contain Natalie’s entire position in that moment. Thank you for reading it so closely.
Reply
You explore a lot here and weave it together masterfully. The way the time literally stopped added a unique element and contrasted well with the pace of the conversation. The grief is palpable and I felt bad for both characters.
Reply
Thank you, Kate. I’m glad the contrast between the frozen world and the pace of their conversation worked for you. And I especially appreciate that you felt for both of them — I didn’t want either character to come out of that moment as the easy villain.
Reply
Yeah, you definitely conveyed no easy villain well.
Reply
Time does stay still when we are grief-stricken, especially to this degree of hurt. The loss, the traumas they hold collectively and individually, and what remains broken between them ever since. It's painful to witness Natalie go through so much and insist on wanting another baby, all while Scott, having witnessed the near-death experience of the previous birth complications, just didn't want to risk endangering his partner all over again. The short volleys of measured conversations between them have the wall of grief all of them. Communication has clearly been strained for quite some time. One partner feels betrayed, while the other feels he had to make the sacrifice to come to terms with the fact that they will not become biological parents anymore. This is the case where nobody is right, and nobody is wrong. Being at such a crushing stalemate, no wonder time stood still. You have captured the humanity of it all so well, Marjolein. Bravo! Thank you for sharing!!
Reply
Akihiro, this is such a generous and perceptive reading. What means the most to me is that you didn’t reduce either of them to the obvious role: Natalie as simply the betrayed wife, or Scott as simply the man who made an unforgivable decision behind her back. He absolutely did betray her trust, but he did it from a place of terror after almost losing her, while Natalie’s need for another child is tangled up with grief, hope, and everything they never properly managed to say to each other after losing their daughter.
You also caught something I really wanted in those short exchanges between them: they aren’t suddenly having their first difficult conversation. They’ve clearly been circling this pain for a long time, and now there is nowhere left to hide from it. I love the way you put it — “the wall of grief” around their conversation.
And yes, exactly: nobody is entirely right and nobody is entirely wrong. That stalemate was really the reason the frozen time belonged in this story for me. Their world has already been emotionally suspended long before the rain stops falling.
Thank you for always reading beneath the surface, Akihiro. I genuinely look forward to your thoughts because you so often notice the thing underneath the thing.
Reply
The grief and sadness in this is so real, so palpable. The longer I read, the more immersed I felt in their collective mindscape. This was an ideal dramatic situation to show things happening second by second, I think. Time slowing, freezing... Timeless moments. As painful as they are. Wonderful work, Marjolein!
Reply
Thank you so much. I love that you describe it as their “collective mindscape” — that’s very close to what I hoped the frozen world would become: not just a strange physical event, but an external version of where they are emotionally. And I’m really glad the second-by-second structure worked for you. With everything around them stopped, I wanted the conversation itself to feel almost painfully alive.
Reply
I liked this. The whole time-stopping idea works because it doesn’t just feel like a cool concept thrown on top of the story. It connects to what Natalie and Scott are going through. Their lives stopped when Sophie died, and now time has stopped too. I thought that was well done. The opening is one of my favorite parts. “Natalie noticed because she had thrown it. Not the wine. The glass.” pulled me in. I also liked that you didn’t spend ages explaining why time had stopped or how it worked. We just figure it out through what Natalie and Scott are seeing and touching, which makes it feel much more natural. I liked all the little things that are frozen too the girl’s pink boot above the puddle and the giraffe in the hospital. They start off as strange details but end up feeling sadder as the story goes on. The part about the pregnant woman was good because that’s where the time-stopping idea connects with Natalie’s grief. “Nothing grew without time. Nothing healed either.” is one of the strongest lines in the story. I also think the argument between Natalie and Scott feels believable. Scott has an understandable reason for what he did, but that doesn’t make what he did okay. I liked that the story doesn’t try to excuse him just because he was scared. The bit where Natalie realizes he watched her take the vitamins every morning was worse than finding out about the vasectomy itself. Him just saying “I was a coward” works well because he doesn’t try to make himself sound better. The Sophie stuff is handled well too. You don’t overdo it. The pink hat in the phone photo tells us a lot before we even know what happened, and then “She had your ears” is such a simple line but one of the saddest in the whole thing. I like the ending. I’m glad they don’t forgive each other or have time start again. Natalie taking his hand doesn’t mean everything is fixed. It just means she takes his hand in that moment. And “Nothing” is a good final line because it works for their relationship. I think it's a strong story.
Reply
Rebecca, thank you for such a thoughtful read. What I especially appreciate is that you understood the restraint I was aiming for. I really didn’t want the frozen time to become a puzzle the story had to solve, just as I didn’t want Scott’s fear to become an explanation that somehow absolved him, or Natalie taking his hand to become shorthand for forgiveness. Some things can be understood without being resolved.
I also deliberately trusted the smaller details to carry more than I explicitly said, so it means a lot that you picked up on them and let them accumulate rather than needing the story to spell out their significance. Sophie in particular was difficult in that respect. I wanted her absence to be present everywhere without turning her into a device whose only purpose was to make the story sadder.
And I’m especially glad the ending worked for you. I considered giving them — and the reader — a little more certainty there, but every version of that felt dishonest. Natalie doesn’t know whether she’ll stay, Scott can’t undo what he did, and neither of them can know whether anything between them will start moving again. For that moment, taking his hand is all she can honestly give him.
Thank you for reading so closely, Rebecca. This is exactly the kind of comment that makes me see my own story again through someone else’s eyes.
Reply
Time suspended. Nothing will ever be the same for this couple, but perhaps in the same things - the things that drew them together - there may be a hope of moving forward. Everything is a reminder such as the little boot. It may take many months to stop thinking like this. They may never stop thinking like that. Here, you showed so well how their grief is almost shared, but mostly how it is painfully separate.
Reply
I like that you picked up on the grief being shared and separate at the same time. I think that contradiction is exactly what keeps them from simply “healing together” in any easy way — they’re standing in the same stopped world, but not in quite the same place inside it. And yes, the little boot was never going to let either of them off lightly.
Reply
All consuming grief, a world that appears crowded out and two people on the same path, without connection. Heart rendering and brilliant. So well done.
Reply
Thanks! I'm very happy that you enjoyed it. I wanted to create a world in which time had stopped—or simply ceased to exist—while, at the same time, the emotions between Natalie and Scott were running high. It was a fun exercise.
Reply
"Nothing grew without time. Nothing healed, either." Seven words that encompass the entire story. You have that talent Mariolein. Also, I found much of the conversation, rapid-fire and staccato, reminiscent of Jig and the American in the Ernest Hemingway tale, "Hills Like White Elephants" and echos a similar, if not identical, situation. You keep writing, I'll keep reading.
-M
Reply
I’ll happily take the Hemingway comparison. 🙂 And I’m especially glad you picked out those seven words — I think they may be the quietest summary of the whole story. You keep reading, I’ll definitely keep writing. Thanks a lot M.
___MG
Reply
Wow, Marjolein. First off, that first sentence really grabbed me, and I didn't look away from the story once! The way you portrayed this type of layered grief, one that hits close, was just stunningly beautiful, truly. And yes, two other people have already noted this, but the vitamin bottle really got me, I'll admit. This story genuinely made me tear up, and only really good stories can do that. The short dialogue, and all these details really added to the emotional feel to the story. Amazing work, truly. Loved it a bunch! x
Reply
That means a lot, especially knowing the story stayed with you strongly enough to bring tears. I’m beginning to think that poor vitamin bottle may be the most vicious object I’ve ever put on a kitchen counter. I’m also glad the short dialogue worked for you; with grief this close to the surface, anything more elaborate would have felt like the characters were suddenly giving speeches instead of surviving the conversation.
Reply
I really liked the story's structure and how fluidly it moved. The dialogue was sharp and emotionally charged, giving the story a powerful sense of intimacy and tension.
The way you captured the complexity of Natalie and Scott's relationship, their shared history, the deep love, and the pain of betrayal felt incredibly real. Scott’s decision to undergo a vasectomy out of fear of losing her felt heartbreakingly human, and his choice not to tell her was especially powerful. The fact that Scott saw Natalie actively trying for something he knew was impossible made his silence even more heartbreaking. You captured the deep sense of betrayal and pain that stemmed from secrets within a relationship, and the moment when that truth came out felt honest and devastating.
I also liked how the loss of their child wasn't just mentioned but felt throughout the story in the silences between them, in their hesitations, and in the small details that reminded them of what they had lost. I especially loved the moment when Natalie noticed the pregnant woman and the toddler playing with the giraffe. It was such a subtle yet impactful way to highlight her sense of loss and longing.
The ending was especially powerful. Instead of offering a neat resolution, you left Natalie and Scott in a place of uncertainty, with just a tentative gesture of connection between them, suggesting hope and the possibility of healing while acknowledging that forgiveness and moving forward are complicated. It was a really moving and excellent story!
Reply
Thank you — you picked up on exactly what I hoped would sit underneath the story rather than need to be explained outright. I’m especially glad the ending worked for you. I really didn’t want forgiveness to become the price of giving them one small moment of connection. Natalie can still love him, still reach for his hand, and still not know whether what he did is something their marriage can survive.
Reply
You're welcome.
Reply
Such a quiet, devastatingly honest piece of writing.
Reply
Thanks a lot Jim!
Reply
Hey MG, I was looking forward to reading this one when I saw it appear in my Activity feed....and I've read it several times now in awe. Using a literal world standing still to convey themes such as guilt, loss and grief is genius and a remarkable interpretation of this prompt. I particularly love the stripped-back descriptions and subtle imagery (the cut at the start mirrors the snip, the giraffe, the pregnant woman, the pills, the pink boot...) and allowing dialogue to carry all that weight....phenomenal work!
Reply
I love that you noticed the cut/snipping echo — that was one of those details I hoped would work quietly rather than announce itself. And yes, the dialogue carrying most of the emotional load was very deliberate; once the world had stopped, I wanted almost everything else stripped away so there was nowhere for them to hide. Thank you for reading it closely enough to catch all those little pieces.
Reply
Wow, on the one side, I can see a brutal betrayal. On the other side, I can understand the reasoning. The tension between these two is evident throughout. You can feel the relationship falling apart.
Reply
Thank you! I have to admit, I’m secretly hoping they’ll still find a way back to each other. Apparently I’m not completely heartless. 😄
Reply