Thank you Rochelle for the writing prompt, a picture submitted by a favourite blogger of mine, Dale Rogerson.
More stories from Friday Fictioneers can be found HERE.
We argued over a trivial extravagance, and Glenda stormed out.
I’m going to Cardiff, don’t call me. She slammed the front door, and plaster fell from the ceiling in the hall.
The children said nothing. After school, we had a two-week holiday in the Pennines and returned to an empty house.
Clare asked when Mum was coming home.
Soon, I said, and choked on my despair.
Late from work, I saw the solitary rose. My heart raced.
Sorry, said Glenda.
It’s okay, I said. How’s Cardiff?
George still loves me.
Jealousy, grounds for murder, I thought, and hugged her tightly.