Shuffling between a demanding job, evening classes, household chores and a million tasks over the weekends, something had escaped me for three long weeks, until her aching voice wove a serpentine web of guilt.
She had steadied my hands at the steering wheel, never re-married despite all the rumors on her heart, always gestured ‘you can’ and ‘after you’.
With the residual gratitude in me, I rushed. To her.
Grasses stood tall in her once impeccable lawn, the cobwebs hung like showpieces from the ceiling.
Beside her withered pots, she sat smiling giving me yet another chance to err.
Word count – 99
Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by the talented author and artist Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Thank you, Rochelle.
PHOTO PROMPT © Victor and Sarah Potter