“Do you understand?”
Instead of answering, she stared at the partially opened door of the bedroom closet.
He leaned into view. She forced a nod.
“I don’t know what I’ll do if you don’t say something. I’ve wanted to tell you for so long.”
At that, she shot a sharp look. A look, that after eighteen years of marriage, he could read like the road signs on their street.
“There hasn’t been anyone, if that’s what you’re thinking. It’s just that…I guess I’ve always known.”
He patted her hand. A friendly pat, a brotherly pat. All along, she’d known too.
This has been an edition of Friday Fictioneers, hosted by the lovely and talented Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. This week’s photo courtesy Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. To read more stories inspired by the prompt, or to submit your own 100-word story, click here.