(2) Every Monday Morning

Every Monday morning she would sit in our best foyer, waiting for him. The room is masterfully plastered with mint green paper, with soft and plush chairs of pale sea blue. She has on her best gown of a deep green color and her hair has been curled and pinned to perfection with her emerald tiara sitting atop it. She sits there quietly, looking down at her hands where his favorite book was gently held and his trinket was tightly gripped. She gently runs her hands up and down the spine of the small softly reciting lines of the stories he had told her countless times. She would sit there, on the leftmost couch as she stares out the foyer window from the leftmost couch, sure that he is simply running late.