Long Enough
David kept asking, “Whose funeral is it?”
His daughter replied, “Mom's.”
Minutes later he said, “Whose funeral is it?”
“Mom's.” Each reply earned the same quiet nod.
When the service ended, mourners drifted away. David stepped beside the casket. He slipped off his wedding band. “You'll need this,” he whispered to the casket. “Take good care of it.”
The daughter blinked back tears.
He smiled faintly, patted the casket, and walked on. Halfway down the path, he stopped. “Whose funeral is it?”
His daughter slipped her arm through his, and they walked slowly toward home beneath silent autumn trees together.
From Guest Contributor E. Barnes
E. Barnes has work published at A Story In 100 Words, Spillwords, The Purple Pen, The Haven, and Medium.
