Each year, they meet by the gazebo, next to the frozen lake.
Wrapped in her parka and gloves, she waits expectantly. Across the ice in the distance, a dot grows larger until he stands before her.
Embracing her, he says, “Macushla, you must move on.”
Her premature wrinkles crease as her brow furrows. “But, I’m not ready.”
“The cost is too high,” he responds.
“Not for me.”
She trades dearly for only twenty minutes with him. It costs her twenty months of her own lifespan.
Each year, she meets him by the gazebo, on the day of his death.
This story is my contribution to “Friday Fictioneers,” a weekly challenge hosted by the lovely Rochelle Wisoff Fields. With the help of a photo prompt to inspire, we’re to write a 100-word story. The beautiful photo this week was taken by Dale Rogerson.
If you would like to join in with this encouraging group of writers or read their stories from this week, visit HERE.