This is the fourth entry out of the thirty I'm attempting. It is part of a series of thirty entries so I hope you'll read each daily post to find out what happens in the end.
Thank you for reading!
No one had ever told her that being a widower was such hard work. It was tragic, yes, that she’d heard plenty, but death was likely so when a particularly dear husband had been the departee.
Dear…even in thought that sounded preposterously untrue.
Not to say that she’d hated him; the two had been polite strangers sharing a house. It had never extended to a home, though she’d always been busy picking furnishings and flowers in an attempt to fabricate something more emotionally satisfying.
Now he was gone and she was still busy, but not with the house; with suitors.