It was time to leave the house.
After the accident, she had needed time to forget and to heal but now, 12 years on, she was still as broken as the night it had occurred.
She had to move on, to do something, anything, with her fractured life.
She blamed herself, and in the small hours of every sleepless night, she replayed all those what if scenarios.
What if she had only had one glass of wine instead of three?
What if she hadn’t taken the shortcut?
What if she hadn’t ignored the stop light?
What if she had managed to brake in time to avoid the collision.
These questions remained without answers and haunted her incessantly.
She’d tried numbing her guilt with wine, or pills, but neither had worked.
Even her weekly sessions with Dr Hamilton hadn’t helped.
It was time to move on.
She put on her darkest of sunglasses and largest of hats and headed, hesitantly, towards the front door.
Her family stood firm behind her.
“Go on darling you’re almost there.”
“You can do it Mum! So proud of you.”
For she was alone in the car that fatal night, the family had taken a taxi.
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Sunday is here with another Sunday Photo Fiction challenge. Thanks Donna!
My feature photo is of the bridge leading to Tromso Cathedral which is behind me.