'The Stone' by Carol Leggatt

You had a plan.  His visit just one more item on your to do list for the day.  A little weeding, fix that creaking gate, draw a line under your marriage.  Happy, occupied, self-sufficient.  And his belongings tumbled into a box, not shredded or blazing on a bonfire.  No more of the passion he said had suffocated him.

A good plan. But instead here you are motionless.  Mesmerised by the piece of stone you have unearthed.  Flint, the same cold, blue-grey of his eyes in those last weeks. Your hand tightens round it.  It is hard, sharp. You hear his car pull up, his footsteps on the path.  And you wonder, how would it seem if you tossed it to him with the quip you left a piece of your heart behind.  Could you make it seem you didn’t care too much if you said it with a smile?