The postcard
The first shock was receiving the postcard, in the day of Whatsapp messages and where even emails were considered old-tech.
Then she looked at the picture: Florence.
Frowning, she turned it over.
Her eyes widened and she put her hand over her mouth.
Him. The holiday, Florence, art, culture. Him.
It was addressed to her with only a signature. His.
So many years had passed. The drive, the argument, the blue, flashing lights. The doctors unwilling to break the news.
The funeral. They had told her there had been a funeral.
She looked at the date.
It was impossible.
My Words, My World 