I didn’t know who those people were.
I’d hovered between the accumulating piles – charity shop, memorabilia, rubbish, before dropping the photos in the middle pile. I’d go through them later.
And now they’re on the table, between me and this unwelcome stranger bearing news that’s shattered my world whilst clarifying a lifetime of puzzling incidents, regular and prolonged absences.
“Take them,” I whisper fiercely, “all of them.”
“If you’re sure…?” she falters, drawing them towards her.
I can scarcely frame the question; the answer will define me either victim or fool.
“When were you married?”
It emerges I’m the fool.
Thanks to Rochelle, the leader of the Friday Fictioneers, for hosting our activities on a weekly basis. Why not join us? All you have to do is a come up with a 100 word story every week… I say all, but… 😦