Jane Jago’s Daily Drabble – Three Hundred and Fifty-Six

He thought she would always be there, no matter what he said. Or did. He thought himself the centre of her world and he took her care for his comfort as no more than his due.

He left the house one rainy November morning unmoved by the tears in her eyes and the tremor in her hands.

He came home late, tired and hungry.

To an empty house.

There was a single word scrawled across the mirror in the hallway.

‘Asshole’ written in the bright red lipstick that his mistress used.

He never saw his wife again in this life…

©jj 2019

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