The creaking wooden pews, monophonic chants, and the suppressed childish giggles were background noise that never diverted her attention or altered her rigid posture as she absorbed every detail of the young altar boy directly in front of her.
“He’s growing into a lovely young man”, she quietly thought to herself.
There’s little left of that past life other than the soft ash of her torched memories and their collective shame. She tends to it all now. Marrying their history into the back of her mind, where she keeps it safe until it’s time for her to let go.
Thoughts
Life can hold deceptions, like a spider’s web, stronger than they appear, full of connections and impenetrable until that thread is broken.
This short story was based on a part of the post below.
Life at No. 22 
That’s a very thoughtful story to bring that moment in Aunty Kath’s history to life.
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Thanks, Eilene. She was an amazingly strong woman worth writing about.
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Such depth in this short story
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Thanks very much, Derrick.
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It stands alone well, Suzanne, but looking back I remember the post about your aunt. Times weren’t easy for a single mum and she made a brave choice xx
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Thanks, Jo. Yes, I think she did. There was certainly no government financial assistance and plenty of societal judgment on women back then.
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Oh, I remember that original post and your story encapsulates it beautifully.
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Thanks, Anabel, and I’m pleased you remembered the original post.
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It resonated, because one of my cousins is adopted (from a week old) and I can’t help thinking of the poor young woman who probably had to give him up.
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I can’t imagine the heartache that would’ve caused. Weirdly, society has made it easy to be a solo parent, and for some, it’s a lifestyle choice. Not one I would’ve chosen.
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No, me neither.
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