Final Gift

By Tom Patrick Stewart

“It’s time, Mama.”

“I know,” she said. “I’m just missing your father.”

“Papa’s gone ten years,” said Charles. “You’ll like Golden Acres.”

“The asylum?”

“Mama, please. Papa would have liked it.”

“Sure he would,” said Mama. “Be a dear; hand me that wooden box.”

“It’s locked,” Charles said. “What’s inside?”

“Things I couldn’t live without. Finish loading up, I’ll be out soon.”

Alone, Mama removed the key she’d worn around her neck for ten years, opened the box, and withdrew the small revolver her husband had placed there just before he died.

“So you’ll have it,” he’d said. “When it’s time.”