Maeve surreptitiously checked her watch again. This was the worst date ever.
‘It’s not his fault,’ she thought, excusing herself to the restroom.
With shaky exhale, she studied her tired features in the mirror. Her grief was still messy like an overgrown vine, tangled and disruptive, unrelenting in its devouring grip.
Well-meaning friends aside, she was obviously not ready for this. She still wanted the only man she could no longer have. Pretending otherwise was pointless.
When her unsuspecting date opened the note delivered by the waiter, Maeve was long gone.
“I’m sorry” was all she could manage to write.
Photo by Sarah Potter
Yes, I know I’m late for Friday Fictioneers! Better late than never? I didn’t want to skip out again, though. This photo screamed isolation and desperation to me. You can find the other entries for this photo prompt here.