8th March 2019
Story for Friday Fictioneers
Thank you to CEAyer for the photo.
No Much more Mourning
Out of the hotel window she saw the motorbike. She’d noticed it the morning just before – a handsome, middle aged, Italian man rode it away, the wind blowing via his dark hair. Feeling guilty for the feelings welling up inside her, Grace believed of her husband who died just months just before. She’d nursed him in the course of a extended illness. I’m completed with mourning, she believed.
They’d promised themselves that when they retired they’d invest some time in Florence. Now, with a bravery she did not know she possesed , she is right here alone. Possibly tomorrow she will speak to the mysterious stranger.