By Amanda Quinn
“If there’s anything,” she says, “let me know.”
I wonder if she could bring him back. Mend the roof. Make Mum’s care home closer. Pay my mortgage. Stop Tom being bullied. Appear at my bedside at 3am to whisper, “It will be OK. It will be OK. It will be OK.”
But she’s thinking of dropping off a lasagne or taking the kids for an hour next Tuesday. She’s wanting to get home and appreciate her own husband for an afternoon until he loads the dishwasher wrong.
“It’s alright,” I say. “There’s nothing.”
Amanda Quinn lives in the North East of England where she works as a freelance writer and tutor. Her writing has been published by Shooter Literary Magazine, Open Pen, Ellipsis Zine, Butcher’s Dog, and Spelk Fiction among others. She can be found online at www.amandaquinn.co.uk and on Twitter @amandaqwriter