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Mr. Larouz was a tired man.

Taking a deep breath, he reclined wearily into the palm of his pillow, the white folds nearly swallowing him. His huge doggy ears hung over his eyes like curtains, and prostate eyelids snuggled against his eyeballs as they prepared themselves for a good night's sleep. His tired tongue hung limply out his muzzle and dripped warm saliva onto the pillow below as it hungered for slumber as well. And, quite happy to comply, Mr. Larouz pulled the curtains up around his neck for this blessed moment of rest.

After all, Mr. Larouz needed every moment of sleep he was privileged by. His pregnant wife required it. Because of her, every moment of sleep was a miracle to be blessed with, and precious moments he took with gratitude. He loved her with all his heart, but boy, that carnivorous canine sure was a handful. All day was errand after errand for her, non-stop driving with the mile long to-do list fluttering out the window._ "Get me this!" "Get me that!"_ The words were still ringing in his ears.

But with a grunt and grumble, he did what he was commanded, and would come home covered in layer after layer of sweat. He would drive for miles around the city to get the finest food, most comfortable clothes, and a surplus of delicious drinks for her. Everything had to be just "perfect" for her, and in doing so he drained himself of every ounce of energy. But although it was tiring, he was just happy they had finally gotten past the greatest challenge of all: fertilization.

Yep. Mr. Larouz could still remember the days where Mrs. Larouz would hold the failed pregnancy tests in her paws like a bouquet of wilted flowers. The tears would stream down her eyes in rivers and Mr. Larouz would stand by her side patting the hunch of her back. However, after seven failed attempts, they at last went to the hospital to find out what was wrong.

Succeeding a series of various tests, the doctors finally reported they could find nothing wrong with her. "As healthy as a hippo," they called her. Absolutely nothing was wrong with her. Nothing at all. The problem was with him. They claimed that Mr. Larouz had celiac disease, or in other words, he was sterile.

But evidently, that wasn't enough to stop a baby boy from appearing in her tummy one glorious day. He could still remember the day, months ago, she ran out of the bathroom, test in hand, and gleamed the two red lines in his face. They both smiled in unison as they knew what it meant: pregnant. Oh what a happy day! They wrapped their paws together and gleamed happily at each other. Mr. Larouz did silently question how pregnancy was possible since they didn't... do the do after they learned pregnancy was futile, but... he could care less. The pedestal of being labeled 'father' was one that freed his mind of any worries.

Father. Father. Father. The word merrily bounced around in his mind. What would it be like having a son? To see those beautiful eyes when they first emerged from the womb? Mr. Larouz would rock that beautiful angel back and forth for hours and tell him bedtime story after bedtime story like a broken record. And when he was older, they would go on camping trips and ride bikes 'round the lake for miles. And when he was even older, he'd even be able to see him graduate and... they would do it all together.

But most of all, he was grateful just to have someone to call 'son' and a wife you could look up to and call 'mom'. The names were electricity on his tongue and he wondered which one his son would learn first: 'Mom' or 'Dad'? Heh, 'Mom' would probably tease him if it were her name first, and she'd give him that broken crescent of a smirk of hers every time the word was spouted from their son's mouth. But it'd be okay; he loved that smile of hers. Adored it even. But speaking of 'mom'... where was she?

Mr. Larouz sat up in bed, head like a lighthouse as he searched for those pert ears of hers against the pillow. Finding no such thing, however, he reached a lone paw out towards the other side of the bed searching for that warm body he hugged every night. Searching for the one who pressed her warm muzzle against his to trade saliva before bedtime. Simply searching. But, his fingers only roamed over to find a barren pillow... his fingers only fondling the desolated sheets.

"Honey?" he called out. "Honey!?" With two fingers, he held aloft one of his tired ears as he waited for a response. But, his only response was the empty hiss of air that made Mr. Larouz's heart sink.

Quietly, he slid out of bed and began to search every room in that apartment for the woman he loved with all his heart. No surface was left untouched by his gaze as he searched for any movement that could be his lover's. She had to be somewhere; his wife would never leave him. So he just kept searching, searching, and searching those empty halls.

But alas, his hour-long search came to an end with no results. He did come to notice during his hunt that all the food from the pantries was gone, so perhaps she was just getting late-night groceries? Maybe that's why she wasn't here. Maybe she felt bad to wake him up and wanted to do it herself to spare him the trouble. That was it, right? Groceries? Right?

But as he wandered head in palms to the kitchen, the note he found on the fridge had a much different story. In familiar cursive, under the glow of moonlight, the note read:

Honey,

I've been meaning to tell you this for, well, months. But the truth has been hard, and it's been growing even harder with every passing day. Unfortunately, now I've kept it until the last minute, and the deadline has finally been reached. So I've got some good news... and I've got some bad news. Which would you like first? Well, knowing you for all these years, you'd probably like bad. So here it is: you're not a father.

I'm sorry to tell you this, but after I heard you were sterile, I was as heartbroken as you were. Having a child was something I dreamed since I was a girl, so I couldn't live that way, and I knew you felt the same. So you see, I had to search for someone else. I had to do it, y'know, for the both of us. And after months of searching, one day in a moldy phonebook I finally found the answer to our problems. He was a bobcat named Ernest.

At first, it was just for the child, as he happily agreed to. So in a rented motel on a Sunday, the smell of flies adorning, we made love. He wrapped those warm arms around me and undid my bra with a swiftness of expertise. And as my breasts fluttered free like pendulums, he looked up to me and those crystal-clear blue eyes stared into mine. He asked me, "Are ya ready?" But I couldn't answer with words, lost in those blue eyes, so I answered him I with a warm kiss instead. And the rest of the story you probably know: the two lines on my pregnany test.

After that night, I couldn't live without him. But I couldn't tell you the truth though, for I knew how heartbroken you'd be. So instead I sent you on chore after chore so I could see that beautiful bobcat every single day. I can't tell you how many times we made love while you were out buying me groceries or coffee. In fact, I think we made love hardest on Valentine's Day while you were out searching for just_ the right chocolates. I mean, I could hardly sit down; that's why I asked for you to buy me that pillow you did. Thanks for that a lot btw. XOXO_

But in the end, I suppose you're probably wondering why I left this. And, well, it's because Ernest is moving to for work and has asked me to come with him. So I'm really sorry, I meant to tell you this sooner, but I didn't know how you'd react to hearing that I was moving four hundred miles away to California. But I hope you understand I was only thinking for the both of us by keeping it a secret, so please don't be upset. After all, just because I'm leaving doesn't mean I won't be thinking of you always.

So I guess these are my last words to you, I'm sorry it's come down to the last minute like this. But Ernest will take great care of the baby, so don't worry! And the good news is that you will always have a place in my heart honey, I hope you know. But unfortunately for you, there is no 'Mrs. Larouz' anymore.

Love,

Mrs. Jackson

Mr. Larouz set the letter down in a calm fashion. After all, he wasn't known to be a man who lashed out. So instead, he simply looked out the window of his apartment. He lived on the twelfth floor, and boy, it was a gorgeous night. So gorgeous he had to open the window to let the stars in. He needed those gorgeous gems to hold him; the woman that used to do that for him just left.

Without thinking, Mr. Larouz stepped onto the windowsill and admired the gleaming lights of the streets below. Everyone looked like ants from up here, and the cars looked like little pieces of candy you could pick up and enjoy on the spot. Upon closer inspection, he could even see there was a traffic-jam, causing him to briefly wonder if Mrs... Mrs... J-J-Jack? The name was tearing him apart as he even tried to utter it in his mind.

He briefly wondered if she was stuck in that traffic-jam.

Oh God, his jaw was quaking. Everything felt ready to fall apart. Like if the wind picked up enough, it would take an arm with it. And then a leg. And then another arm. Until slowly, piece by piece, there would be nothing left but the emptiness in his heart.

You know what? Maybe he just needed to go to bed. Maybe he needed to sleep it off, and everything would be better in the morning. Yep, that's right! Everything would be better if he just went to bed and slept it off there.

But the bed was just so far away. And why bother when the windowsill was right here? Also, what was the point in sleeping there when there wasn't anyone to accompany him under the covers anyway? The only thing that slept in those sheets now were bad memories, and he didn't want any more of those. Sleeping right here in this windowsill would be best. It would all be for the best.

So, letting the darkness be his blanket and the concrete below be his mattress, he slept. After all--

Mr. Larouz was a tired man.