He always added too much sugar, and the coffee dregs had crystallised in the bottom of the cup. It sat there forgotten on the table, dirty brown spittle still smeared around the rim. It was the only thing left of him in the house.
He always complained that the handle was too small for his swollen, slug-like fingers, and he would writhe and grimace and deliberately up-end his drink into his blanket, and it was always all her fault. But now the cup was chipped and blood-stained, so she buried that in the garden too.
He always complained that the handle was too small for his swollen, slug-like fingers, and he would writhe and grimace and deliberately up-end his drink into his blanket, and it was always all her fault. But now the cup was chipped and blood-stained, so she buried that in the garden too.
