The slumbering snake coiled in a dark corner of the closet in her mind; Sarah didn’t know it existed. In her conscious life, all was apple pie, light and happy. Like a slow IV drip, the venom leaked into the fragile fabric supporting her existence, eroding all her life’s work. In one hideous moment, a hole, never to be mended, tore through.
The day was one of the ten best days weathermen glow about; Sarah opened the letter and her dreams ended. The words hammered her until she cried.
A widow with four devoted adult children and insurance money gave her optimism about the future. She might meet someone to begin again a new life. There were no signs, no foreshadowing she felt later, much later, with hindsight always 20-20, did she recognize her mistakes. Blind faith and trust placed her where she stood, screaming, crying, the letter in her hand.
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