Tomorrow is ten months. Ten months to the day. An anniversary, but not her and Carl's anniversary. A vast blackness rolled itself out in front of her as she thought of her future, empty of shared anniversaries. The anniversary of Carl's - of the accident - of Carl's accident. Of her Travesty.
She'd pick up some flowers and take them to the cemetery tomorrow afternoon when the girls were in school. It was exactly a month since she'd last been and the flowers would need replacing by now. In a way, she enjoyed the cemetery. Like home, it was peaceful and quiet.
Neville Hunt about 1 month ago