Every Saturday for 43 years their routine had been the same. No matter where they’d lived, they’d taken the bus into town. She would shop; he would sit, and when she’d finished, he’d carry her bags back to the bus stop, while she merrily recounted their contents. Once home, she would reward his patience with a freshly-baked cake – sometimes chocolate, sometimes lemon drizzle, sometimes his favourite: just a simple jam sponge, always delicious. He’d eat it at the kitchen table, smiling as he listened to the chatter and clatter of her tidying up.
Life is not the same without her, but on Saturdays, if he sits on a bench next to a cafe and closes his eyes, he can almost convince himself she is still alive.
(Original version posted at Flashpoints, a National Flash-Fiction Day project.)
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