The Mirror

Sarah threw the book in the corner and took a last look around. The mirror was set in a gold frame, and she remembered the day that he had bought it for her. It was early afternoon and he had come upstairs puffing with the weight of it. He’d removed the wrapping, placed it against the wall, and all she could think to say was, ‘Oh, it’s a mirror.’

‘You don’t like it,’ he said, ‘I’ll take it back.’

‘If you even think it, I’ll never speak to you again,’ she replied.

Her dress had been the colour of wet slates. Such an unflattering colour against her pale skin; yet she had seen his reflection behind her smile, ‘You’re so beautiful, skin like ivory.’ he said.

She had remembered a particular phrase her mother had once said. “Cool face, cold heart.” But it was not true, she had loved him deeply and as if to prove it, she had risen and moved into his arms. Afterwards they had dressed and made their way downstairs. They had ham and eggs for lunch again. Because it was his favourite and he was in a hurry, Bill was calling for him at four.

The doorbell had rung and he had kissed her goodbye. Four hours later the police had arrived, there had been in a collision on the M1 and he was in a critical condition. She’d sat by his bedside all week, praying for a miracle that never came. On Friday it was all over. The doctors declared him brain dead and the machines were switched off.

After the funeral she had became a recluse, preferring to live with her memories, sooner than face life.

Now ten years on, Sarah sat in the bedroom that overlooked the garden. Beyond the garden, there was a school and she could hear the sound of laughter as the children played. She smiled, there were still some things in this life that could make her smile, but not enough to make her reverse her decision. For years now, she had thought of doing this and now she had finally plucked up the courage. Bravery, she knew, was often underrated. It had taken a long time to get to this point.