Is it still the weekend somewhere?
Title: Till Death Do Us Part
Rated: T
Carson/Hughes
300 word cottageverse
Charles plunged his hand into the bucket of water, letting the cool liquid soothe the gash between his thumb and finger. In future he’d need to remember not to think about his wife whilst using any type of tool with a blade.
He drew his hand out of the water and patted it dry with a towel before wrapping it tightly in a piece of clean rag.
He should admit to himself that not only was he becoming clumsy in his dotage, he was also becoming contrary. He’d gone from adamant he should move out of their cottage; to wavering after Elsie’s revelations about her past; to now determined to stay put.
Should that be in the spare bed, then so be it, he thought mulishly.
When he’d considered moving to the other cottage, he hadn’t stopped to think about the shame he’d be bestowing upon Elsie by making such a decision.
He’d spent most of his life worrying about appearances. It shocked him that he was behaving selfishly and he hadn’t thought about the consequences to her reputation. He would never want her to be embarrassed by his actions.
He now saw her excuse for the suitcase, and the way she’d skirted around certain subjects in front of Morag, as proof she'd be upset if their marriage was to end. As would he.
After lunch he'd made to retreat to the garden, as politely as possible, to give Elsie and Morag some privacy. Only Elsie had followed him to the doorway where, to his complete surprise, she’d smiled and squeezed his arm before saying the words that had been still swirling around in his mind when he’d cut himself.
He flexed his bandaged hand, and despite its dull ache, he smiled.
“For better or worse,” she’d said.
Rated: T
Carson/Hughes
300 word cottageverse
Charles plunged his hand into the bucket of water, letting the cool liquid soothe the gash between his thumb and finger. In future he’d need to remember not to think about his wife whilst using any type of tool with a blade.
He drew his hand out of the water and patted it dry with a towel before wrapping it tightly in a piece of clean rag.
He should admit to himself that not only was he becoming clumsy in his dotage, he was also becoming contrary. He’d gone from adamant he should move out of their cottage; to wavering after Elsie’s revelations about her past; to now determined to stay put.
Should that be in the spare bed, then so be it, he thought mulishly.
When he’d considered moving to the other cottage, he hadn’t stopped to think about the shame he’d be bestowing upon Elsie by making such a decision.
He’d spent most of his life worrying about appearances. It shocked him that he was behaving selfishly and he hadn’t thought about the consequences to her reputation. He would never want her to be embarrassed by his actions.
He now saw her excuse for the suitcase, and the way she’d skirted around certain subjects in front of Morag, as proof she'd be upset if their marriage was to end. As would he.
After lunch he'd made to retreat to the garden, as politely as possible, to give Elsie and Morag some privacy. Only Elsie had followed him to the doorway where, to his complete surprise, she’d smiled and squeezed his arm before saying the words that had been still swirling around in his mind when he’d cut himself.
He flexed his bandaged hand, and despite its dull ache, he smiled.
“For better or worse,” she’d said.