In Love I Do Write

“Sorry, Ma’am. Nothing.”

Isabel nodded, dismissing the housekeeper. Tears accompanied her sullen soul.

In earlier times she and Alfred exchanged letters frequently. Physical distance between them, when he left for war, mattered not. Had the passion vanished?

Not for her. How could she forget their tireless walks in the countryside, their invigorating conversations, or his warm smiling eyes? He, the son of her parents’ friends.

The expected letter eventually arrived, as did others following.

Only after Isabel and Alfred had died was their love revealed to the world, in a manuscript—a collection of hundreds of letters penned between them.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

For the prompts Manuscript and Letter.

Housekeeper

The rain pelts my umbrella, so I make haste to avoid getting drenched before my housekeeper interview. The last home I cleaned I left because there had been too much friction between the husband and wife. I didn’t want to be in the middle, so I quit. When I came across a post online of a wealthy couple looking for a house cleaner, I applied. It’s in an upscale neighborhood and I have a good feeling.

I ring the doorbell and a man answers. In the distance I hear a loud crash, and his face turns wan.

I walk away.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher