I stood and looked at the remains of the dinner party I’d thrown for the family. Chairs were hurriedly pushed back and skewed. Most of the time Alan had sat with his back to our Dad’s new wife. At least if there had been blood spilled it would have soaked into the sand around the tree. It was never like this when Mum was alive. Only since Dad found his new toxic partner. They’d tried so hard to like her, for his sake.
Sighing I said, “Mum you taught us well – at least they cleared the table.”
With thanks to Rochelle Wiseoff -Fields who hosts Friday fictioneers and also Fatima Fakier Deria who provided the photo prompt.