Desperate housewife

Woman in Red Dress Leaning on the Wall

Waiting outside his hotel room, I feel desperate. This defeats the whole purpose of a one-night stand.

“No strings,” I told him with slurred speech.

But I’m sober now.

My husband is dead.

And I need an alibi.

Like I said, I’m desperate.

When the door opens, I straighten against the wall. He jumps when he sees me.

“Oh, it’s you.”

I should be relieved he remembers me.

“I need you to say you were with me last night.”

He scoffs. “I’m late for a conference.” He puts on his blazer and sidesteps me. But I’m desperate, so I follow.

© Nortina Simmons

A longer fleshed-out version of this story (or maybe even a serial) could be in the works. 😉 Let me know what you think.

Let me know I'm not talking to myself.

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