The offers keep coming. Apparently it’s a valuable land parcel.
The day he died, she left the cottage for the last time. She couldn’t face it. She filled the kist with her memories. And then we left.
We buried mum two days ago and coming back here made sense. Headstones are fine, but this is the real memorial.
The only addition to the room is a thick covering of dust. I close my eyes and see him in his chair, reading The Farmers Weekly.
It’s not a parcel. It’s a gift. And as mum would’ve said, you don’t sell gifts.