by Dawn Knox
In forty-eight years, she’d never got used to bits on the carpet immediately after she’d cleaned, snoring from his side of the bed, empty toilet roll holders, drawers and doors left open…
Even after so long, she’d never got used to those aggravations. Mostly, she’d rolled her eyes or ground her teeth and occasionally, she’d erupted, to be accused of unreasonableness.
But now he was gone and she longed for the sound of noisy breathing from his side of the bed and the mess which meant he was there.
What she wouldn’t give to have the chaos of him, back.