Her face red,
her hands shaking,
she picked up the wedding photo.
She muttered,
“You bastard.”
She hesitated,
holding the glossy photo
encased in a glass frame,
and reminisced.
Don’t cry,
she demanded,
but her heart didn’t listen.
There was a crash,
and a slam of the door.
Broken glass scattered
across the wooden floor,
the smiling faces,
that once shone through
the house,
now lie on the floor.
It’s over.
