James
Life is good.
One of my favourite parts of the day: the ‘family’ gathers for breakfast.
Humming to myself, I assemble what I need by the stove: bacon, eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms…
Something missing…
?
Oh, yes…
Sausages.
I retrieve the paper-wrapped package from the fridge.
It took me years to get to this ‘place’. So much of my life I spent either alone, after my divorce, or before my divorce, effectively alone. It never felt like family.
But now, my ‘wife’ plays ‘aeroplane spoons’ with my little daughter, zooming mashed banana in the general direction of her mouth. Cara, with her spiky explosion of hair glinting in that peculiar ginger-black shade I’ve never seen anywhere else, and a face like a laughing marigold, opens wide. Champing on the mush, I’d say it’s about fifty-fif
