Confessional realism Stories

I’m down on my knees with the scrubbing brush when my phone buzzes against the tiles. I wipe my damp hand across my leggings and swipe to see the notification. Dentist appointment: 2pm. “Oh, shit!” I had it in my head that my appointment was tomorrow, and now I realise I’ve only got twenty minutes to get there. My stomach drops. I’m flushed from cleaning already, too warm in my pink marble leggings and the stretchy pink s...

I don’t know why I stopped to open the letter. I never have. I swore an oath not to. But there was a worry in Jean-Baptiste’s eyes when he handed me the envelope. A concern I felt was meant for me, not the recipient. I paced the road as my horse drank from a nearby stream. I kept looking between the letter in my hand and the signpost at the intersection: Domaine de La Comtesse de Eger. “Take it tonight Étienne,” he insist...