Liliana gently touched the French door panel. The door was original to the fully restored 18th-century baroque-style plantation house. The exterior walls were painted a deep ocher, typical of the island. Liliana loved the contrast with the white curved façade lines and white window frames.

The interior was painted a subdued, comforting yellow. She felt the tropical trade wind flow through the house, just as intended when it was built centuries ago.

She nodded at the sales agent. She would own this house and build the future her ancestors, once mere commodities on this property, had envisioned for their offspring.

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Tap 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. Okay.

Turn left, turn left, final turn. Yes. Okay.

Click on, click off. Okay, the coffee machine was turned off.

She pulled out the power plug. Wait, was that a tiny spark? She reconnected it. Was this plug always so warm? She couldn’t remember. She pulled the plug back out. No sparks.

Oven door ajar. Okay.

Microwave door closed. Okay.

Dishwasher door ajar. Okay.

She didn’t hear Eric entering the kitchen. ‘Come on Marella, we have to leave now if we want to make it to the airport on time!’

She nodded. ‘Yes, yes, I’m coming.’

He retreated to the car where their two children were impatiently waiting.

As soon as Eric left the kitchen, she noticed the blender. She unplugged it. Was it safe to let the cord on the kitchen counter? Could the heat of the plug melt the countertop? Or worse?

No! Stop it! Frustrated, she shook her head.

She checked the faucet again. Turn left, turn left. Yes, it was closed tight.

‘Marellaaaa!!!’ Eric was shouting now.

‘Mohommm, lets gohooo!’ Her ten-year-old daughter had entered the kitchen. She grabbed her mothers’ hand and pleaded: ‘I really want to go to Disneyland Mom, let’s not miss this flight again.’

Reluctantly, Marella followed her daughter to the front door. She started to turn around, but her daughter pulled her forward. The little girl only let go of her hand, once Marella was inside the car with her seatbelt fastened.

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“It sounds like you had a delightful day, Jax!” Gruffy says cheerfully.

“Yes I did! We went to the park, I had yummy treats and so many cuddles! I was even allowed to stick my head out the window!” I sigh contently and put my paw on the gruffy human’s hand.

Gruffy gently places my paw back on the blanky, avoiding the cold surface. This is my favorite blanky. I push my nose in it. It smells like my food and my favorite human. The edges are chewed up, but the texture feels nice when I roll on my back. I remember, even though I haven’t rolled on my back for a long time. It hurts to move like that now.

My favorite human shakes her head, smiling. She scratches behind my right ear. Ah….I’m loving it! The sensation travels all the way down to my tail. I wag my tail a bit. I used to wag my entire body. I can’t anymore.

She presses her face in my neck. I smell saltiness on her face. I wag my tail a bit more, that will surely make her smile.

Gruffy asks: “Are you ready?” My favorite human nods. She starts scratching both my ears simultaneously. I drool from pure pleasure.

Gruffy pats the back of my neck. I feel a cold sharp sting but I instantly forget about it because of the ear scratching.

I could take a nap like this. My eyes feel so heavy. I hear my favorite human’s voice and feel her endless scratches as I slowly doze off.

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“Hi Gem” the email stated as Gemma scanned her mailbox.

Great. What was her slithering team leader up to now? She knew Gemma hated the nickname ‘Gem’.

What the?!! Her entire team was copied in the email!

“I trust you will withdraw your application for the new project. You only recently resumed work after your, longer than expected, medical leave. Others have worked hard, awaiting this career-changing opportunity.”

Gemma clenched her jaw. She had survived. Fully recovered. She would damn well do this project.

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Farani ignored the light tremor of her mother’s hands as they opened and uncovered a set of earrings. Each golden stud carried a finely crafted rose cut citrine gemstone that reflected yellow sparks.

Farani looked at her mother questioningly.
“I finally cleaned up his desk.” Her mother smoothed an imaginary tablecloth. “I found these in his drawer.”

“Oh….” Farani pushed back the lump in her throat.

“I am sure…” her mother paused, “that he bought you these for your birthday.”

With a quivering smile, she placed the studs in Farani’s hand. She looked her daughter in the eyes and just nodded.

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Can happiness that is lost be replenished? Or does everyone have a finite amount that, once gone, can never be attained again? If so, how was she supposed to sit through another dinner with nothing more than a forced smile? These thoughts kept popping up in her head while she watched him eat during their weekly dinner at his favorite restaurant.

By the sounds of his smacking and chewing, he was, as always, enjoying his rare steak. Tonight, the steak was served with pepper sauce and pommes gratin. He took another bite of the dripping red meat and moaned audibly. She flinched and averted her gaze.

She resumed twirling her fork around aimlessly in her truffle pasta, the only vegetarian option on the menu. She couldn’t get herself to take a bite. His appetite however, was insatiable. He gulped down another bite and belched.

She moved around in her chair. ‘Truthfully, I cannot stand to see you eat so much meat.’ He smirked and dangled a bite of steak, blood dripping, in front of her. ‘You mean this glorious piece of cow?’ Still grinning he brought the fork to his mouth and started chewing. He smacked his lips, obviously enjoying every juicy bite.

She pushed her chair back resolutely and stood up. ‘I’m done’. Her voice was calm but stern. It reminded her of her mother’s voice.

He looked at her with an expression of both indignation and incomprehension. ‘What are you doing? Where are you going? Sit!’

‘No. I’m done’. She looked him straight in the eyes. ‘We’re done’.

She dropped her napkin on the table and walked out. She already felt lighter. Her every step seemed electrically charged with new energy. Her happiness had not vanished, it had just been covered by gory slabs of red meat.

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The veterinarian had told her to finish the entire bottle of medicine. From yesterday, her small black tabby cat was moving around all right again.

She had wanted to stop administering the medicine today as it made the little creature drowsy. However, her friend Linda had insisted that she strictly followed the vets’ orders. Reluctantly, she had given in.

Just as she opened the front door for Linda who was coming over, the cat slipped out. Disoriented, yet incomprehensibly fast, the cat wobbled towards the street. The night was too dark and the car approached too quickly. And the cat? The cat was dead.

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We were only four hours into what was an island-wide power outage. The power wasn’t expected to return any time soon. Our phone batteries had died. The candlelight of some old candles, found in a moving box, provided a pinch of light in the otherwise pitch-black night.

We were the first, and currently only, inhabitants of the housing project. What had drawn us here, a secluded area with bushes, cacti and mysterious rock formations that sheltered birds, lizards, iguanas and other small animals, was exactly what currently repelled us. We jumped at all the unfamiliar rustling and shrieking sounds surrounding us. Suddenly, I felt my hair lifting on my nape. I instantly knew we weren’t alone with small animals anymore.

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She felt her blood rush from her toes up to her head. Mesmerized, she stared at the woman through the café window. The woman waved the Uber-driver goodbye and started walking towards the café. Their eyes locked. She felt herself drowning all over again in those dark, greyish blue eyes.

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She always knew he kept a journal. She thought that was something that only teenage girls or burnt-out women did.

She remembered the first time she found him in the bedroom, leaning against the headboard, alone with his thoughts, pen and journal. She had felt a sharp sting in her stomach but never pressed him to share his writings.

Over the years, she had never noticed that there weren’t any full journals stacked anywhere. Until today. She had heard a unexpectedly loud ‘thump’ as the mailman pushed an envelope through their mail slot. It had ‘Return to sender ’and ‘Stop this!’ written all over it in thick red ink.

Her heart beat violently as she tore the envelope with the unfamiliar address open. It was one of his journals. She started reading. A gasp escaped her lips as she realized that exchanging journals was also something that lovers did.

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