PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot
The house was dressed for Christmas, marble staircase aglow with lights, candles scenting the air with smoke and wax, the hint of church and austerity at odds with the excesses to come.
Soon gilded guests would fill every glittering corner, the best food and wine would flow from extra staff in midnight black and starchy white, with eyes cast down, seen but never heard.
Meg stopped at the front door, carpet bag knocking her shins. He would be waiting, collar too tight, elbows pressing through his threadbare jacket.
She had everything, but was nothing without him.