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Weekly Contest #318
My eyes blurred with tears as I dusted the cobwebs from the empty totes I had dragged up from the basement. My arms ached from the digging I’d had to do to free them, pulling them out from under decades of memorabilia—like the brass-plated shoes my children had worn to first walk in, and the containers of military medals my once-young husband had earned, before his heart and lungs started protesting the chain-smoking he refused to quit. But worse than my sore arms was the pounding in my chest as I carefully stacked my daughter’s clean, folde...
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