Reminiscing

Angrily, she tore down the office. I crashed through the desk until it was only wood and lumber. He wiped all his books from the bookcase and brought the bookcase down. In their room, she picked up all his clothes and tore out every photo that had his face on it—anything that would bring back a memory of him. She packed them all and dumped them on his grave, then lit a matchstick and watched it burn.

It was better this way, she decided. His memory had no place in her heart, in her life, or in this world.

She returned inside as the last of his memories burned and called on her maid.

“My husband died from a fall.” She told her. “I will not tolerate hearing otherwise from the women in this village. And from now on, we will receive no guests. Barr the doors and windows, lock up the study, and bring the keys to my room. It is now a prohibited area.”

The maid would have asked Madame a simple question, but she knew better. She nodded her head obediently and went to do as her Madame had