She slowly shuffled down the alley, her old, pink umbrella barely kept the light drizzle from dripping through.
She looked at the piece of telegram in her hand, it had yellowed with age and handling, yet the faint words were emblazoned on her mind.
He had said to wait for him at the old alley, where they always had their secret rendezvous, away from the prying eyes of goldfish bowl town of theirs.
They were to leave town and start anew; but he never came.
Year after year, she faithfully trudged back. Patiently waiting for him to arrive and take her away, but no news; nothing to show that he ever existed.
At ‘The Home’ they looked at her with eyes of pity. They called her fancy names: delusional, dementia and indulged her racy thoughts.
The last laugh would be hers.
Each time she dressed to go, sure that it would be that day, though it has been 28 years of going to the alley to wait.
He would come.
Pete is a man of his words.
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
In response to the FFfAW photo prompt above. Thank you Etol for the photo and Priceless Joy for this challenge platform.