The Red Box

This post was written in response to the ‘100 Word Challenge’ here, where there are links to many more responses. Although entirely fictional, there were, no doubt, many young widows for whom real life was similar to this.

From the bedroom window, Jean smiled at the sight of her grandson playing badminton with his father. Then the sadness hit home as she reflected that he had never had the chance to do this himself. Quietly, she moved to the bureau and took out the red box – her mother’s jewellery box. From the lower tray, she took out the photograph of a young man in R.A.F. uniform, several medals, and a watch. The face had been scratched by the breaking of the glass. The hands were flattened at nine minutes to four. Just nineteen minutes before his son was born that morning.

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