Every time I do the washing, I think of you. I wonder if you knew that last load was the last wash you’d ever do. If you knew that Friday tea of fishfinger-pesto-pasta was the final meal you’d make your kids. If you saw light at the end of a tunnel. If that was enough to pull you through, or if you had to be dragged backwards looking at your boys.
Some days, I think I see you up in the field walking your imaginary dog, and laughing at the stories spinning in your head that I will never read.
This story was shortlisted in the February 2022 Monthly Micro Competition.
About the author: Kathryn writes for all ages. Her stories have been placed in various contests and published in anthologies, in magazines and online. She has an MA in Writing for Young People and helps other writers through her mentoring and reading services. https://kathrynclarkwriter.co.uk/mentoring-editorial-services https://twitter.com/KClarkwriter