His eyes are stinging and prickly by the time he pulls up in front of his house at 2 A.M. An eight-hour drive, preceded by a ten-hour flight, makes for a mightily weary man. He thinks of his bed, soft and warm and utterly glorious.
He looks at his home. Every single light is turned off. Even the porch light.
“Damn it,” he mutters. “What did I tell her? Literally the last thing I said to her. ‘Leave the porch light on.’ How hard is that?” Continue reading “Whoopsie-Daisy | Flash Fiction”