That’s what YOU call a happy ending: you plundered our joint bank account, maxed out our credit cards and ran off with the Austrian masseur who looks like Arnold reborn and is twenty-eight years younger than you. While I’m home with the debts and three hungry children. Thank you, Lucille!
– James Steerforth (© 2017)
Flash fiction in 50 words.
Loosely based on a song by Kenny Rogers: