The apartment is bare of any ornament.

Hannah had expected to find a shambles, hence the bucket of cleaning supplies in her hand. It’s difficult to believe he’s lived in this studio for the past six months. The only sign that she’s in the right place is a stack of his clothes in the corner, neatly folded. Otherwise, there’s none of his personal effects, even in the wastebasket.

Her grief isn’t prepared for this. She’s a mother, long accustomed to fixing the messes of her children. Finding that his last act had been to clean his room leaves her devastated.

She was the best stress buster I had. My best friend. My confessor, she bore all my messes. Talking to her was necessity not habit. She was my anchor in my bad marriage days. Ironically, my daughter shares a birthday with her.

She is the picture perfect woman to me. She got married to the best guy in the world. I’m so happy for her. I had never thought distance and time would keep us apart in these technologically advanced days. She is in EST and I am IST. What a mess these 9.5 hours have created in my life.

From Guest Contributor Dr. Scribbler