His clothes were gone, most of them anyway. Their joint account, empty. His special whiskey had gone, his crystal glass too.
‘I’m so sorry’, the note said. ‘By the time you read this, I’ll be at sea’.
For months they’d been planning to get away. They’d spent their savings and more buying the yacht. Every spare minute had been spent preparing the craft for the trip of a lifetime.
‘I feel so guilty’, the note said. ‘But I had to leave’.
Clutching the note in her hand she wandered out into the street leaving the door hanging open behind her.
‘Right now you must be angry’, the note said. ‘But one day you’ll understand’.
Did he think she was stupid? Did he honestly believe she didn’t know what was going on? She knew. Oh yes, she knew. That’s why she made a couple of discreet ‘adjustments’ to the yacht. Don’t worry, she’d made plans too.
‘You’ll forgive me’, the note said. ‘In time’.
Rain splashed her face, as she strolled into the park. She tramped across the sodden grass to the stream, made a paper boat from the soggy note and dropped it into the fast-flowing water. A wry smile spread across her face as it tumbled downstream, then sank.
Sunday Photo Fiction is hosted by Susan Spaulding. This week’s photo is by Subramanya Bhat.