Bethany grabbed her purse, the picture of her four children, and the small box of confetti containing her shredded, many-times rejected work.
Sticking her head in her boss’ office, she recoiled at the stink of gin, but chirped, “Today’s my last day! Here’s your grant proposal!” She winked as she dumped its contents into the air with a wide sweep of her arm, dropped the box, and jogged out of the building.
Car keys jingling, she thought, “Pick up ice-cream? No, it’ll be a family picnic on that abandoned mansion’s grounds!”
New job, new life. She’d missed her kids!
© Liz Husebye Hartmann (2022)
Carrot Ranch Prompt (05/09/22): In 99 words (no more, no less), write a mom selfie — a story that creates an image of a mom. No one mom looks alike or fits a maternal mold. Who is she? Go where the prompt leads!