January 18, 2016

At sunset, they set fire to the house they had built together. It had been a dry season, and the timbers caught quickly, then flared as if in anger.

There’s no going back now, he said, and she had no good response. She could not have foreseen this when they drew up the plans.

When it had all collapsed on itself in a pile of embers, she let go of his hand for the last time. It was a beautiful fire, she said. Thank you, at least, for that.

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