The wallpaper in the baby’s room had been chosen by John. Just seven months ago, they had been preparing the nursery, planning for the new infant that would soon scream in her crib.
Now, of course, it only reminded Laura of John every time she walked in, be it to put the baby to bed, or to nurse her at midnight, or two am, or four am… there was no moment of respite from his demand for pink with fluffy clouds. She had wanted the cheery yellow, he had demanded the gastro-medicinal pink. She suggested a nice light orange paint, he demanded the pink. She asked why he was so intent on the pink, and he refused to answer, instead buying it while she was at work and putting it up in under eight hours.
The bubbled pink, poorly applied, like the wedding ring she still wore. The baby lay against her, quietly suckling its dinner, and she looked around, chanting the medicinal commercial, comparing the symptoms to John. It took all of three weeks after the baby’s birth before he was gone, and three months in, she still thought of him every time she walked in here.
The child finished, delatching herself to be lifted for a burping. She settled back in for another two hours of sleep, and Laura stood up, stretching her back. She wouldn’t get back to sleep tonight. So with a sense of finality, she reached up to the peeling corner, and started to tear.