Images are the worst kind of memories, because they are so vivid, they stay within the confines of your head for the longest time. The image of his infidelity was like stamp, sealing the envelope addressed to her, telling her he was no longer in love with her. -> My shallow words of praise would just ruin this. But it gripped me, Katy. Know that.
I love it how you let the story unfold slowly in front of our eyes. How you lead me up the garden path and then slam the gate shut... ? ;)
This was an amazing story. I still can't make sense of all of it, but that doesn't matter. If some questions are unanswered, that makes for a more life-like story. Because we never know everything.
So you've had a quite productive weekend, eh? You rock the Biscuit rock, dear! huggage