Lorelei Bachman
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Stories (1/0)
He never hated cats before
The man I loved is gone. Gone forever. It would’ve been better, easier, if I had admitted that to myself the day I met him at the train station. A shadow of his former self, eyes sunken, uniform tattered, a far cry from his honourable send off a few years prior. I thought I could love him out of it; reverse those years at the front, half starved and near frozen from frostbite. I thought enough tenderness, warm meals and a tidy home could turn the tides. That’s how we were all raised. We were healers; menders who kept the home fires burning. It was my job, my mother said, to smell of scented soap and talcum powder. To re-pin my hair before he came home each night. To always ask how his day was first, regardless of mine.
By Lorelei Bachman3 years ago in Humans