PHOTO PROMPT © Sarah Potter
The house was warm, soft lights glowing from square rooms and rectangle halls. He’d met Joy in a blizzard. Sat in her car. Talked. Played Go Fish. He won some, but mostly not.
They married a year later, on the same date they’d met. Thirty years later, she died on that same date. Yesterday.
Snow turned to rain, to slush and vanished. There would never be snow in his life again. All his rooms were empty.