I’m not surprised it should end here.
This has always been the hub of our home. Evening meals as a family, the kids covering the table with their homework.
Then, when they left home, it became our battleground. You occupying one end of the kitchen table me the other. Taking turns to throw barbed comments and hateful accusations across no-man’s land.
I’m not sure what was different about today. It might have been something you said but I can’t think what. I simply remember screaming, lashing out, hitting you again and again with that old iron.
So utterly satisfying.
100-word story for Friday Fictioneers.