By Annie Soilleux
He flings his wedding ring out of the window as he drives off. It rattles down the roof of the shed and lands in the leaf litter on top of her compost bin.
The worms do their work, casting orange pith and lettuce slime into rich, crumbling humus. She turns the heap, changes the locks, cuts her hair. Buys a new bed.
Come spring, she’s pressing well-rotted compost into terracotta pots when her fingers stumble on something unforgiving. She digs it out and turns it over, examines it a moment before tucking it away. She’ll put it on Ebay later.
“I live in Berkshire and write to try and entertain.” – the writer