Word count: 100
Carol leaned against the counter; after thirty years a groove had worn where her hipbone rested. Coffee steaming, she looked out over the horizon. Mist covered the fields, softening the world in a way that pleased her. Each drop sparkled in new hope for the day, and all things felt possible.
Today was the day she’d tell him. Love had gone and she had to go, too, to save herself. His footsteps on the stairs came too soon.
“Good morning, dear. Sleep well?” Hope, like the day’s mist, evaporated with this exchange.
Carol smiled a tight smile. “Fine, dear. You?”
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© Erin Leary