Fateful Time E-Book

Stephanie Flynn

• Herausgeber: Stephanie Flynn
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

A grieving widow seeks comfort at her favorite antique store and finds a trinket that controls time. Can Sarah go back and save the man she loves, or is he fated to die?

This is a standalone time travel romance short story.

Leseprobe

FATEFUL TIME

A Time Travel Romance Short Story

STEPHANIE FLYNN

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2020 Stephanie Flynn

All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the author, except as provided by United States of America copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author Stephanie Flynn, subject line "Attention: Permission Request," at the address below.

[email protected]

First edition

Cover design by Stephanie Flynn

ISBN ebook:978-1-952372-13-1

Table of Contents

Fateful Time

About the Author

Fateful Time

He left me twice. I still hadn't forgiven first time, but the second...The second nearly killed me. It was a miracle I even showed up—not because of the standard Saturday catch-up on paperwork, but simply hauling myself out of bed. The regret, the what-ifs, the crushing pain had spun my head into a self-destructive vortex of guilt.

But that realization was too late.

Family and friends disbursed around me. Half of them had glared at me with hatred after the ceremony, as if his death was my fault. I couldn't deny their judgment. The other half had given the requisite pity speeches, and I nodded where appropriate while anger and pain screamed at me to flee. I needed to face him one last time.

Who could ever see something like this happening? We were in our thirties with great jobs on track to becoming a power couple. Late nights at the office were the norm. We'd both grab dinner out, separately, and fall into bed, separately. On a rare Sunday, we'd attempt to make dinner together. It led to some interesting concoctions. The corner of my lips lifted, remembering the accidental use of salt in the fruit salad.

It was horribly awesome.

But everything changed the day I found out David had given up on us. I still don’t understand what he saw in her. She was far too young, and her skirt was so short.

I stared at the lacquered casket across the room—just me and David in the sea of empty chairs and flower arrangements. I didn’t use a single tissue for the whole ceremony. I had no tears left to give.

He'd walked in the door that terrible Sunday, and his excuse was so thin, it broke me. Denial led to apology, but I refused to listen. How could he throw our marriage away? Pride got the better of me. Dignity, sure. So, I kicked him out. The eerie silence his absence left behind hollowed me. And when I pictured him with Skirt at her place, having wine and twisting in the sheets, anger, perhaps jealousy, fueled me. I met with my lawyer, and my world came to a screeching halt. The ink was still wet when I regretted that decision. Had I not fought hard enough for us?

I lost my best friend—my love—over a silly skirt. And now it was too late to do anything about it.

David had dropped by regularly to pack up his stuff. At first, I buried the truth down in the epicenter of my pain, never to be unleashed. But on the final Sunday, he'd collected the last traces of himself, and it was then, behind his broad smile, pain in the creases of his eyes broke through. I wanted to scream the truth—that I'd forgiven him for leaving, that I wanted to work on us, but my pride smothered it. After all the damage that had happened, I was unwilling to risk rejection or succumb to vulnerability.

With David erased from my life, I was a husk of myself, wallowing in the pain of betrayal and fear. So when a knock came from my front door, I'd cleared my eyes before opening it wide. I choked on his name.

"David? What are you doing here?"

There was a familiar spark in his eye, and a familiar suitcase in his hand. A wave of hope knocked me off my feet. I crossed my arms over my chest.

"What can I say for you to give me another chance? I'm sorry for everything, for her. I love you and I only want you."