I only want to hold her.

One squeeze. One kiss.

She’s been in the hospital for so long. Her poor mother can barely hold a conversation over the phone. Exhaustion has snatched her up, and now her baby girl is being snatched up. If only the girl’s temperature would drop. If only her heart rate would slow down. If I could just step outside my front door and drive over to be with them, to give my daughter a break, to give my granddaughter hope.

I only want to hold her.

One squeeze. One kiss.

And then I’d leave. Drive back home. Shelter inside with my puzzles and biscuit tin.

The glorious May sky almost convinces me that there’s no virus too deadly that could survive in the same vicinity as our beautiful spring days.

But I made a promise to my daughter. I can’t let the virus snatch me away from my girls. She told me to stay home, stay safe. I promised that I would.

I slump in my sofa and stare out the window, biting into a Rich Tea.