Bridge of mistrust

She had her eyes firmly fixed on depths below, not the other side. Gingerly stepping on a bridge whose maker she did not trust was not easy.

It had never been easy since the day she married. She had found out that her inheritance mattered more than her, and they actually despised her for ‘the stroke of luck she carried, without any special ability.” Her ordinariness was held against her.

They were undoubtedly a talented lot, but were struggling for success. It made them envious of the rich, of those who got everything effortlessly. But they needed her all the same.

Finally on the other side, she heaved a sigh of relief. The bridge was of no use. They could never value or trust each other. 

She couldn’t care less if the bridge collapsed. She had done the needful for that.

Thursday photo prompt: Painted #writephoto