Bhanushree let herself into the flat. Ankit was gone – after the morning altercation it was to be expected.
The house, the cupboards were bare of his belongings. Sudden tears choked her – the sight of her single toothbrush too much to bear. His razor – she stiffened and annoyance flooded her. Lazy bum, couldn’t even throw it in the trash. And what a mess she fumed.
Bhanushree set about scrubbing the flat to her fastidious liking. Mom was right. Live in doesn’t work. But better than being stuck in a marriage with an irresponsible brat -leaving the balcony door open.
Bhanushree froze. His sneakers lay there.
“There! Happy? You made me wash your dirty sneakers.”
“I didn’t ask you to wash them.”
“I told you to wash them. But…”
“They looked fine to me.”
“I can’t stand to see you wear such filthy sneakers.”
“Well that’s your problem isn’t it?”
“I’ll tell you what my problem is – You! Get out of my house!”
A tear slipped down her cheek. I tell him to do a thousand things – does he ever listen? No.
Words: 182. Written for the Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner (200 words or less). For other stories, click here
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