Slag

My sister called to say that Dad was terminally ill, and we should go see him once. Mom was happily settled with her second husband and kids, and would not bother to check on him.

Just before I left, I kissed my daughter in between her play, and invited protest. She wanted to be left alone.

“Sure, darling! But Mom and I will always be there for you.”

I could give anything to provide her the snug comfort of loving parents. I could not ever forget being referred to, by both of them, as ‘slag’, from their failed relationship.

 

Inspired by Flash Fiction Challenge at Carrot Ranch 

March 2: Flash Fiction Challenge

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