“I’ll drive you home, Ellen.”
“I’m widowed, not incapacitated.”
Not an unhappy marriage, but no idyll either. Different aspirations, different interests.
She’d often dreamed of leaving but each time she reached the brink she held back, fearful that only a void existed on the other side.
Now every night, unsupported by his bulk, she rolls over into his cold, vacated hollow.
She sits in his favourite chair, and fingers the threadbare patches where his meaty hands once fidgeted constantly.
I wonder, she thinks, whether I took all that there was to be taken.
And every day, she comes closer to the answer.
Going through something of a fallow patch at the moment, but the best way to reach the other side is to keep on keeping on, I think. And what better exercise than Friday Fictioneers under the watchful eye of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Thanks for all that you do for the group, Rochelle.