“I don’t think I’ve ever seen the back of an elephant before,” she whispered amused, nudging him with her arm.
He didn’t reply.
She turned her torch back toward him. “Everything okay?”
He wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were fixed on something behind her, his brows creased.
A knot of unease formed in her stomach. She didn’t want to turn around. “What’s there?”
He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. Her stomach flipped. She couldn’t turn around. It was like she was frozen in place. “What is it?” she whispered again, fear shaking her voice.
“Your father,” he finally replied.
Behind her she heard the crack of a floorboard.
She spun around.
©2018
Sunday Photo Fiction, May 13, 2018
FELICIA HEILGENDORFF 
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