PHOTO PROMPT Sarah Potter
Christine had to force the lean-to door, tendrils of ivy and bindweed clinging at the wood. Tears welled in her eyes as she saw what was inside.
She’d been putting off clearing her father’s house since he’d died, finally gaining the strength three weeks after the funeral.
That morning she’d found the birthday cards from his ‘wife’, more addressed to ‘Daddy’, the spidery writing unfamiliar.
She remembered Mum’s sideboard scented and glossy with beeswax, now it was drowning in weeds, the wood curled like the pages of a well-thumbed book … and the memory of her Father shattered.