Kitchen table Stories

Ciara’s drive to Dundee felt longer than usual, her mind tangled in the stress she was trying to outrun. Ryan, her best friend, had insisted she come. He knew from the sound of her voice on the phone that life was crushing her, and he wasn’t about to let her deal with it alone. By the time she pulled into his driveway, the kitchen lights were glowing, warm and welcoming. She grabbed her overnight bag, exhaled, and stepped...

After fifteen years of marriage, you feel like a stranger to me. I watch you lift a wineglass to your lips during dinner, a gesture you've made countless times in my presence, yet it's now utterly unfamiliar. Because you are. When did it start? Months ago? Years, maybe? I can't pinpoint the exact moment you began drifting away. We don't fight about sex or money; we have plenty of both. There's no obvious wedge between us....

The sun was relentless. It beat down on Georgia’s creamy skin like a hot hand pressing against her shoulders, her chest, the back of her neck. Even in the shade of the old magnolia tree, the air was thick, soupy—more steam than breeze. Her raven-black hair clung to the sides of her face in damp waves as she sank her trowel into the garden bed one last time, exhaling a small grunt as she tugged a stubborn weed free. Her ta...