By Nicola Bell

editors pick

It was a warm day. She turned around to say as much, then stopped when she saw she was alone. The park bench behind her was empty. At her feet, bobbing heads plucked at the breadcrumbs she’d dropped. Her face softened as she watched, savoring the creatures’ trust and the predictability of their nature. They’d be here next Sunday afternoon and so, of course, would she. All for those precious seconds when she could turn her back on the cold park bench and forget that he wasn’t there.

4 thoughts on “Breadcrumbs

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