Last week I heard a story about an Italian man. This latin lover is pursuing women in an expat community. He’s smooth: when dropping his children at school in the morning, he makes contact with the stay-at-home-mums in the playground. He starts chatting them up and, so far, there are at least two victims.
One of the women realised she wanted to end the affair and got back together with her husband. The other woman is still dreaming of a future with her latin lover. He will probably never leave his wife though; they seem to be in an ‘open marriage’.
I don’t know why this story kept going through my mind all week. I am appalled by the impudence of this guy. It feels a bit like he is preying on women at a vulnerable point in their lives. But I also wonder why these women risk so much: their marriages, their family life and possibly their children’s well-being. They risk it for a man who won’t commit himself to them; he will probably be a latin lover (of the unfaithful kind) for the rest of his life.
I know I am judging without knowing all the facts. I probably shouldn’t, but I am trying to make sense of this. I do understand that when you’re in an unhappy marriage, this sort of affair may feel like a great adventure, making you feel alive again. But isn’t it a bit too much to leave your husband and family for a fling? Don’t let being in love blind you. Get to your senses and hurry back to what you have and hold dear. The grass isn’t always greener at the other side of the fence.
Today’s Daily Prompt: Second-Hand Stories – What’s the best story someone else has recently told you (in person, preferably)? Share it with us, and feel free to embellish — that’s how good stories become great, after all.
When Ella walked past the terrace the next morning, she saw the empty chairs. This is where it’d happened. He’d chosen to do it in public. Probably to avoid a scene. She felt betrayed.
He’d asked her to join him after work for a drink and she’d been looking forward to it. How silly she now felt. She hadn’t seen this coming.
When she saw him on that terrace, Ella knew something was wrong. He started talking almost immediately. He’d met someone. After living with her for fifteen years, he wanted to start a new life with his boyfriend.
Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff, who provides the photo prompts every week for Friday Fictioneers.
Mist hangs over de river. The haze is blurring the view of trees and dykes in the landscape. In the distance, the bridge has a faint red colour. The dark night withdraws, while the day arrives cautiously.
The early morning train will take me to the airport. An exiting day ahead. I have a lot of preparation to do, but it’ll be worth it.
After shopping and tidying the house, I will prepare the food. My fridge will be filled with drinks, the wood stove will burn and we will gather in the drawing room. Enjoying each other’s company.
Four friends, long lost, but found again. A lot of talking, sharing and catching up. There’s definitely going to be tears. Possibly some due to sadness, but probably most will be tears of joy.
She’s seven now. This year, her mam told her she can be whatever she wants to be. They are browsing the sewing magazines. So many costumes, so many choices. Her mother points out the costumes she likes. A nurse, a fairy. “What about a bumble bee, that’s cute!” Her mom adds. And there are so many princess costumes. “Do you want to be the prettiest princess in school?” Maud doesn’t like the costumes. She doesn’t want to be a princess. Maud wants to be the queen.
Inspired by today’s Daily Prompt: Masks Off
Her entire life, Miranda had lived on the island, the only child in a community of aging castaways. Few islanders ever had children. Infertility was a side effect of the plague.
By Miranda’s tenth birthday, the community’s population had dwindled to a couple dozen. The radio in the meetinghouse squawked news of proposed hydroelectric developments that would flood the island. Most mainland dwellers believed the quarantined colony extinct.
When planes began buzzing over the island, the islanders hid until Miranda’s papa had an idea. Surely when the mainlanders saw a girl playing on the shore, they would reconsider the development.
Miranda started running. She gathered all the debris she could find. Her dad was watching from his hiding place. What was she doing? Would she be safe?
A week later, Miranda was interviewed by a reporter. She didn’t like the attention, but needed to tell the world about her community. The island dwellers were so proud of her. They couldn’t have imagined the good outcome of it all. One of the pilots had spotted the text on the beach. Please. A small word, but with the most amazing impact. The island was now a national park.
Dad drives our camper. He’s looking for a place to park. I hope we’ll stay near the pond. I can watch the birds after dinner. I like birds. Sometimes I wish I were a bird, that I could fly anywhere I wanted, stay wherever I liked. Not this, always traveling.
Wouldn’t it be nice to make friends? I like my brother, but he is so small. And mom and dad are always discussing grown-up things I shouldn’t hear. But I know they are afraid, afraid they will find us. And that’s why we move, every day, to another home.
I ‘found’ this story by typing away for ten minutes: the Ready, Set, Done-assignment of today’s Daily Prompt. The editing took much longer than that…