I stare at the photo. You. Her. Eyes creased in sunlight. Matching smiles.
My replacement is young. Beautiful. As flawless as a cover model.
Save. Open. Edit. A frenzy of clicks. She may be lovely, but I can make this picture perfect.
First her face. Erase. Replace with sky.
Extend the wall, one brick at a time, to conceal her body.
Reconstruct your arm, occluded by her shoulders. Try not to remember the strength of it. The safety.
Finally, I’ve finished. The photo shows you, alone. Happy. Embracing empty air.
Elsewhere, you wake with a start to find her gone.
From: 101 Fiction