“Billy asked me again today. Do you have to do it in front of him?” John was at the sink washing his hands after a long day outside.
“There’s nothing wrong with crying.” Julie huddled into the afghan wrapped around her shoulders and picked up the steaming mug. She’d never adjusted to the weather here.
“Maybe not, but does it have to be so much?”
Tears sprang to her eyes. He would never understand.
He glanced in her direction as he dried his hands on the towel that always hung from the oven handle. He must have noticed the tears welling in her eyes. He threw the towel on the burner and walked in the other room, shaking his head as he went.
Julie bowed her head, her body shuddering.
Why do I cry so much?
It isn’t so bad here, except…
I miss my family… my language… the smells… the warmth.
I thought it would get better through the years, having a child and making a home with John.
Billy’s laughter rang through the kitchen, followed by John’s. She felt more alone than ever.
Staring out the kitchen window, she let the tears flow and longed for home.
The rules for Sunday Photo Fiction are to write around 200 words in either poetry or story form based on the photo prompt. This is one of those times that isn’t very literal. I just let the photo serve as inspiration rather than using it as a direct reference. I hope you enjoy.
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