The fishbone lodged in her throat.
Consumed in her grief, she barely registered the discomfort from the bone pressing against her walls.
She swallowed huge gulps of air between shaky breaths.
The light continued to blink. Once. Twice.
He had sent another message.
“Are you alright?”
“Why, no,” She thought, “how could I possibly be alright?”
She wanted to rail at him, “How could he possibly be so thick as to think that she could be alright after this?”
But she merely sat there, too worn down to protest, absentmindedly spooning the fish into her mouth.