(Artist: Rafael Barradas; Source: WikiMedia Commons)
Oh, sure, I know it’s not my fault. I blame myself nonetheless. Silly? Self-indulgent even? Yes. And yes. But there it is.
We argued. Ironically, I don’t remember why. I do remember screaming, “I hate you,” and slamming into my bedroom.
Those were the last words I ever spoke to her.
How could a 33-year-old woman drop dead of a massive coronary? Daddy said, “Her heart was just broken, honey.” But I knew that. I broke it.
I’ve been living her life ever since. It’s my job, after all.
***
Thanks to Tara of Thin Spiral Notebook for hosting the 100 Word Challenge.
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That is some serious guilt to be carrying around for so long. A job that should be retired.
ReplyDeleteNot to worry. This is pure fiction.
DeleteFifty years is a long time to carry this burden!
ReplyDeleteIndeed. Yet so many people carry guilt their whole lives.
Delete