Robert sometimes finds shrapnel of Judy’s heart that had previously exploded into his: tiny shards that must be delicately dug out with tweezers, careful not to damage his ventricles, septum, and aorta with clumsy extractions. Well, not damage any further. If only he hadn’t been cursed with fat fingers.

Heartbreakers should be natural born surgeons, Robert mused while setting blood slathered dregs in the tin surgical bowl sitting on his lap.

At least the love bomb that had threatened detonation for so long had finally liberated itself from Judy’s chest. And she was no longer kept up late at night with its ticking noise plaguing her thoughts.

And she didn’t mind so much living now without a vascular organ: although current lovers complained her flesh was too cool to the touch, her smile too thin and wary.

At least she was legal to fly again.