He expected to die within the week. When his wife of 60 years finally succumbed, he’d go after her, hold her hand through the gates. They buried her on Saturday. He nodded to his sons—the other half of that grave would be etched with his date after church service next week. A quiet tea. Little cakes. When he lived another decade, he began to question if he had loved her as truly as he thought he had done. If it was true, he’d be dead too. He rubbed the empty space on the tomb and a season changed. And another.
Really emotive. Hooked me from the email.
I liked the tea and cakes sentences – just enough.
Oh my god that’s a cruel story. What a nightmare. Effective, though.
Kind of gruesome, and very effective. A tormented soul driven by his own delusion.