“But it’s not Christmas, mummy!” her youngest daughter exclaims, looking at the three star-shaped candles on the table.
She smiles thinly and continues lighting them in silence.
“I honestly don’t know why you always loved those candles so much,” her elder daughter says, shaking her head.
She shrugs and stares into the flames.
“You haven’t lit them in a while,” her son chimes in.
She closes her eyes and shakes her head, willing their images and voices to disappear. It’s been five years now since her three children died in the car crash after her eldest was finally handed her driver’s licence and she still hasn’t adjusted to their absence.
Each of you is a star. Shining brightly up in the sky, always watching me. You’re the three stars that always light up my life, even when my husband comes home each day since your deaths to beat me for having allowed you to leave with the car.
Sunday Photo Fiction, June 12th 2016