PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
‘Look.’ Davey pointed to the sky, to the sun shining through dove grey clouds. ‘A silver lining.’
Fizz shivered, fidgeted with her blanket, tucking it tight round her legs. She felt the cold so easily now. ‘Silver tarnishes,’ she said, with a soft smile. ‘I’ll take platinum.’
Her shrunken frame – swamped by the rugged mass of the wheelchair – made his chest ache.
Producing a small velvet box, he lowered himself onto one knee. ‘Funny you should say that …’
In the churchyard three months later, that faultless ring returned to the earth with her.
‘No tarnish for my girl,’ he whispered.