The following short story was written for Alastair’s photo fiction.
Pat and Macy sat at the dining table, looking bitterly at each other. Then Pat lowered his eyes to his plate, stuffing it with food, barely looking up. This was their last night together. Their divorce would come through the next day. Macy’s eyes brimmed with tears as she reached for the juice. Losing one child after another, all those years of petty quarrel, misunderstandings – all of them were coming to an end. Why did she feel so terrible then?
Suddenly, the power went off. Macy sighed and went inside for candles while Pat searched for his torch. Pat had just located his torch when Macy screamed. Pat panicked and ran to the living room. The lit candle had fallen to the floor, mercifully just brushing Macy’s dress.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yes” she replied, shaken.
In the torchlight, he saw the woman he had met and fallen in love with fifteen years ago. He had even forgotten what his wife really looked like. As Macy blinked back tears, she realized that they were holding hands.