This was written for Friday Fictioneers. Many thanks to Rochelle!
That girl from 3A holds our photo from Paris, the Eiffel Tower looming in the background. She’s chuffed. Dimples cave her cheeks like parentheses but feel like exclamations.
“Your picture was water-damaged, probably from the roof leak.”
She’s restored it. If she’d been around years earlier, she’d have fixed us.
I smile. “Thank you, Gwendolyn.”
“You didn’t need fixing,” she says. “You doubted, she loved. Still does. Your wife forgave you everything.” Her words echo in the hallway.
Warmth, teeth on my earlobe.
Emily. Kiss then bite.
“I’ve missed you.” Her.
“I’ve not missed you.” Ever.