Second Chances

It didn't happen very often any more.
It had been 73 days since they'd been to the home by the country-side.

Unbrushed, unkempt, it seemed like one of those 8:00 mornings when she would walk straight to the patio, opening her eyes to lush verdant liveliness.

The roof alternated slats of solid mahogany with clear glass creating a piano-like shadow in front of her feet.
She stood there in her night shirt and soaked in the morning sun like a little child in the meadow. Dull gold rays highlighted her cheek bones, revealing hints of crusty mascara and patches of unremoved make-up from the evening before.

He squinted in her direction, rubbing traces of indulgent sleep from stubborn lids, and stared at her silhouette with no guilt.

She was prettier than he could remember.

He worked his way into the kitchen and came back with two cups of piping hot coffee - Hers, 2% milk fat and his, half-and-half. Accompanying them was a tray of her favourite dark brown biscuits with sugar crystals encrusted around every edge. He put them on the patio table and carried their cups to where she stood.

"I hope this isn't awkward..." he paused looking away towards the hills. She took two steps closer and curled her fingers around his arm.

They had married each other 9 years ago.
It had been 73 days since their divorce.