a short story by Vanessa Grant
Jennifer Sandborn fled personal tragedy to serve as a humanitarian aid worker, promising her husband she would return in a few months. Two years later she returns in the middle of the night. Everything feels familiar, but nothing is the same.
"Tomorrow morning she would wake up under the duvet in the chilly house, safe from wars and death and tragedy. She would stretch out her hand with her eyes closed and when her fingers touched John's warm flesh, she would nestle into him with her lips against his throat.
Although she couldn't see the house where her husband waited, memory guided her steps, filling her blackness with light.
Her hand reached for the gate but found only the edge of the fence. She fumbled and found the uneven slant of the gate, propped open, still broken ... "
Genre: General Fiction
Jennifer Sandborn fled personal tragedy to serve as a humanitarian aid worker, promising her husband she would return in a few months. Two years later she returns in the middle of the night. Everything feels familiar, but nothing is the same.
"Tomorrow morning she would wake up under the duvet in the chilly house, safe from wars and death and tragedy. She would stretch out her hand with her eyes closed and when her fingers touched John's warm flesh, she would nestle into him with her lips against his throat.
Although she couldn't see the house where her husband waited, memory guided her steps, filling her blackness with light.
Her hand reached for the gate but found only the edge of the fence. She fumbled and found the uneven slant of the gate, propped open, still broken ... "
Genre: General Fiction
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