The Fall

“No, I’m not saying that. What I’m saying is that I still expect to wake up at any moment.”

Elizabeth Walsh tossed her rubber gloves into the sink and removed her apron. She hung it next to the refrigerator and wiped the sweat from her brow. Her husband, Mark, sat at the kitchen table, leaning the chair he sat in on its back legs so the front were several inches off the ground. He had a bemused grin on his handsome face and his hands on the top of his head, ruffling his dark brown hair.

“You still think this is all a dream?” he asked of his lovely strawberry-blonde wife of twelve years. “You think that you, me, our kids, they’re all a part of your dream and that none of our life here has ever happened? I mean, that’s funny, but you’re not serious, right?” … More The Fall