“Guess what?” Alice’s eyes sparkled. “I told Dad what I really think of him. No more holding back. And you’re right, I feel so much better.”

“Well done.” Her husband relaxed. “You going back next week?”

“Yeah.” She rubbed her scarred wrist. “My turn to put flowers on his grave.”

M.H. Thaung can’t decide between writing tiny stories or speculative fiction novels, so she has a go at both. Find out more at: mhthaung.com.