The letters were stacked high on the kitchen table. Bills. They were four months behind on their mortgage. The last letter warned of foreclosure.
Sighing wearily, she walked to the basement where her husband often hid-out, drinking booze and smoking marijuana. He’d told her it made him relax.
She could smell the pungent odor as she descended the stairs. Her decision to leave him hardened.
He was lying on the cement floor.
Shocked at the needle hanging from his vein; a note on his lap.
‘The insurance money should be enough for you and the kids.’
“Coward”, she screamed.
Word Count: 100
Genre: Flash Fiction
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*****Photo Prompt©Shaktiki Sharma