I was a judge’s pick in this (very) short fiction contest at Boise Weekly (I got the news the day my dear cat Oliver died). Reading it tonight on the internets. Words and storytelling have been helping me during this very intense time (personal and public), as always. Reading and writing.
This post is almost as long as the story itself (one hundred and one words short!). But here's the story:
She was visiting to see if she could be a wife and mother to him and his kids.
Everything in the bathroom leaked. But he had laid out tiny toiletries for her – toothpaste, moisturizer, deodorant. Her face flushed at his care, until her eyes stung with shame.
“He deserves better than me,” she thought, steeling her eyes in the mirror to pretend for a few hours.
The next day she drove away while he and the kids feigned cheer playing soccer with a deflated ball in the snow.
Her hair still smelled like his house when she climbed into bed later.
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It's me, Jennifer Bernice (rhymes with "Furnace": it was my Granny's name) Sutkowski
• More details about my writing here.