She wipes the sweat off her brow, lets out a hardened sigh and bends over to lift the body.
She wrinkles her nose when the smell hits her. Dave’s been spoiling in her cellar for a week now. She’s had no choice, after all.
Poor Dave, she thinks, but like the rest of the world, she has to go to work tomorrow. Some things never change, even if her marriage has.
Dave makes a thunk sound as he weighs down the trunk. She sighs again and holds her breath. Slamming the door, she hopes she’s remembered to bring a shovel.
© H.K. Rowe 2014-2015