Closure

Files and folders were strewn everywhere. It would take her all afternoon, to sort through the paraphernalia she had been lugging around, for the last twelve years.

She angled a manila envelope and a lone card slid into her lap. She braced herself for a twang of remorse. There was none.

Her name and the groom’s name were printed in bold red letters on the corrugated surface. The wedding, had it happened, would have meant a different future. One, in which she would have had very little say. She placed the card back in the envelope.