Leave

Short fiction by Karen Hertzberg

“I thought I told you to leave,” he says. Slow. Steady.
He sits on the wide sill of his apartment window, watching the afternoon parade of cars, taxis, bikes and pedestrians three stories below. He hears her make a soft noise behind him–that same jagged sigh, almost like crying, almost like the [...]

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Threshold

Short fiction by Karen Hertzberg
You have an amazingly high pain tolerance threshold—that’s what the nurse told us the day after your Caesarian. “She’s a trooper. Hardly touches her pain meds.” Even then, you were unwilling to medicate yourself.
The day I bring you home from the hospital, you smile thinly from the wheelchair as [...]

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Spark

Short fiction by Karen Hertzberg
We were pulling into adjacent spaces in the parking lot at Foodmart when he dinged the fender of my old Pontiac. Though we didn’t bother to exchange insurance information, the next morning I woke up with him in my bed.
“Good morning.” He sat up and grinned at me, like he [...]

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