Every year, on this day I think of the time that I ate so many pancakes I was fit to burst. I remember your amazed faces as I sat and ate my 7th in a row and I remember the joy and excitement that you had about the day itself. I remember and I feel. I miss you and I hate that now all I have is a memory. It isn’t physical, it isn’t here and now, it is then and it is past. And sometimes I hate it.
…and so she left, with her head held high and tears in her eyes. The footpath was uneven and overgrown beneath her boots, her thoughts focused not on balance but on not looking back. The face in the shadows behind her, one of anger and remorse, a face that she had once known so, so well. To look back would have been disastrous, for she had once promised his mother she would not speak to him in anger. She would keep her promise, even as the worst had happened, even as her heart hurt with the effort to remain silent.