“Delia, your garden is a mess!” Sharon kicked at a pile of mouldering leaves. “I know it’s hard, now Bob’s done a runner again, but really.”
“This was always his domain, at least when he stayed off the drink.” Delia idly rubbed at the fading bruises on her arms. She always wore long sleeves, even in summer.
“But what will he say when he comes back?”
“He won’t be back this time.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“You’re standing on him.”
Cyranny’s #1MinFiction Challenge