"Jesus Christ…" A horrified sigh of disbelief escaped thin lips. Was she really this cold? How could the woman he loved do this? The only excusable explanation in his disgusted mind was death.
He shed his coat, dripping London rain, before rushing to the wailing infant. Each cry raked the doctor's thoughts; each tear fell like acid, burning holes in the father's heart. He scooped the child into his arms, her crying eventually lessening into muffled coughs.
Still in his state of panic, he ran through the apartment one last time to assure his observation was true. He didn't want it to be. He desperately hoped that the woman he loved had not left their 5 month old baby home alone for God knows how long.
John changed and fed his daughter, assuming to see her mother show up at any moment. He still believed Mary had only popped out for a bit and would be returning within the hour. But that was not the case.
After putting Lucy to sleep, he wearily waited for an explanation. He sat on the sofa, heavy eyelids struggling to erect themselves. The overtime at the clinic hadn't been easy on his health, nor had his anxiety regarding the state of his marriage. He arose only once to tend to his daughter who was crying once again for food and attention, attention she had been denied while both parents were away.
It really wasn't John's fault, but he inwardly hated himself for the child's suffering. He should have come home sooner. It was technically his day off. He should have ignored the phone when the clinic called. Where was Mary? Was she even coming back? What the hell is going on?
Questions swam in the sea of guilt that had pulled John's consciousness into a deep sleep, and he awoke to the sunrise engulfing his flat in a fiery red hue.