The Storm Within

es of the loud argument still ringing in her ears. Wrapping her arms tightly around herself, she replayed the volatil

ll those years ago, that she had first glimpsed Michael through the very same window. His laugh had carried through the open back

mile. They had struck up an effortless conversation then, and she found solace in recalling the easy companionship of their early days.

ing uncertainly in the kitchen doorway, eyes downcast. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, running a ha

in the man who had once made that very same heart feel whole. With a quiet sigh, she nodded. "All right. Let's talk." Josephine closed her

ills needed priority that month. But old wounds had lain just bel

patience simmering there, ready to boil over at the slightest provocation. "Th

it took for

t's always your way or noth

f you'd discuss things like an ad

nd? I'm trying to m

pent-up frustrations burst forth. Accusations were

so cont

ver take res

wound they'd inflicted on the other over the years of small missteps and miscommun

lationship, tattered and frayed from the force of their passions. But first, understanding. Josephine took a steadying breath as she leaned back

at civility would be futile when raw nerves were still so near the surface. Space, she need

think it's best if I stay elsewhere tonight, to let things

ight of him. Wrenching open drawers, she carelessly tossed clothes and nec

his face filled her with dread? This house that was supposed to be their refuge now fel

Only the cool night air on her flushed face brought some small sense of release., With a shaking exhale, Josephine climbed int

glow of headlights illuminated her way. She pressed harder on the gas, craving the numbi

el as if it were a life raft in stormy seas. She tried focusing on deep breaths and

in that suffocating space. But out here, speeding through the inky night towards the

t while wounds gaped wide and raw. Her only solace lay ahead, where open arms and a soft bed waited to lend respite from the ruins of what was once home. , Josephine finally

r mother Mary stood ready, as if somehow expecting this late night call. One look a

arm wrapped protectively around shaking shoulders. A steaming mug

ears - the argument, accusations flying both fair and not, and how she couldn't bear one mor

. Sleep now, dear heart. All will be well in time. And with that assurance, Josephine let comfort's embrace lull her into a deep and dreamless rest., Josephine woke to gentle

where deep within her ribs. Eyes burning anew, she lay listening to morning sounds drift upstairs -

stretched out ahead. She turned her face into the pillow, seeking escape from both recollections and tha

ation. Their lovely home, years of shared life treasured like jewellery now

wave of sadness, before forcing heavy limbs from the comfort of