Threadbare

Threadbare by Tiffany Greenfield www.eleventhhourfiction.wordpress.com

By noon it would be too warm to knead the bread. As it was, the sweat was running down her back. She used the threadbare apron to wipe her hands, her house dress beneath the apron barely as thick as a whisper. He had walked off a month before in search of work. She finished his whiskey on the third night. Burned his clothes on the 12th and let his best friend do his sinners work on her on the 20th. He wanted to stay on but she had run him off like a bad dog. Didn’t take much when he realized she was with child.

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