The couple crossed the border, eyes wide with relief. One huge hand rested beneath her buttocks, the other wrapped around her waist as he carried her, weaving between the crowds on the bridge. This tiny doll of a woman reached up and ringed Goliath’s neck with spaghetti-strand arms. Tears streaked her pale face.
Their intimacy lacked passion. It was born of human need.
Nearby a man lifted his cell phone to capture the moment and, stomach rigid I knocked it to the floor. My outrage outpaced his. Her stumps, still too new and red-raw, had no place on social media.