Jane Jago’s Daily Drabble – Fifty-Seven

She was tired of doing her best. She’d raised her husband’s children, run his farm, and tended his broken body after they brought him home on a hurdle. But he had died last winter.

So here she was. Forty. Unwanted.

Her husband’s son had made it clear there was one offer, and she was expected to accept it.

A shadow crossed her vision and she looked up at the portly, and unromantic, figure of the village baker.

He held out his hand almost shyly and she took it. Rising to her feet she stood shoulder to shoulder with her future.

©️jj 2018

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