Entering the quiet house, a thunderous silence greeted Lisa.
She flipped through her mail. As usual, the only men who remembered her were named Bill, utility and cable.
Finding her usual spot on the couch, she unpinned her hair, letting it cascade onto her delicate shoulders.
Reaching for her shoes, she remembered him. If he were here he would remove them, like he always did. That would be followed by a soothing rub and perhaps a loving kiss on her toes.
Hours later she lay deep in her recliner; wrapped in her thick white bathrobe. A diet coke and remote rested in her lap.
An annoying commercial interrupted the programming.
Her gaze fell upon her uncovered pale feet in desperate need of a pedicure.
She wondered what he would be doing if he were here right now. She smiled. She knew the answer. Painting her toe nails…
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