The old woman gazed at the photo of her grandsons, standing in its silver frame on the scratched coffee table by the window. She remembered the day the toy sports car – minus one rubber wheel – had gouged its French-polished top.
Despite the damage, she had kept it as it was. Her grandson was horrified that it was still there to remind him.
It still brought a smile that a maturing young man could feel that twinge of guilt so long after the event… as she did, the old woman mused, so long after the other one; the one for which no-one was prepared.
Now, in his turn, the desk-scratcher was to be married. There was something about the coming ceremony that promised to heal the memory of the other, the old dark day.
Her brightly coloured dress was lit by a flash of spring sunlight breaking through the…
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