House of Cards

Many thanks as always to Rochelle for Friday Fictioneers.

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

House of Cards

We built a house of cards. With a single wind, it toppled.

“Your fault,” you said. “Working late hours.” Your eyes couldn’t meet mine.

While I intubated patients, you took Ginny to Anchor Motel. While I comforted grieving relatives, you comforted Ginny. When I cried, I cried alone.

I arrived home, you stumbled in hours later, a hickey red on your throat, eyes red from booze, and your words defensively red.

The past six months stole bits of me away while you stole completely—away.

“Go,” I murmured.

As your taillights became distant pinpricks, I realized I understood nothing.

end

12 Comments

  1. The man is an ass. You’re well rid of him. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. (BTW, I know this isn’t about YOU. 🙂 )

  2. I like your word play in this story. I also like the complexity of the emotions, for example, ‘“Your fault,” you said. “Working late hours.” Your eyes couldn’t meet mine.’ The guilty party accusing the other is typical, and you’ve caught it precisely.

  3. Dear Sascha,

    Okay. I’ll try this again. So you might find two of my comments in your queue. 😉 Your MC sounds like a caring individual devoted to a noble profession. He on the other hand strikes as a selfish arse. Well written.

    Shalom,

    Rochelle

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