The next photo is the PROMPT. Remember, all photos are property of the photographer, donated for use in Friday Fictioneers only. They shouldn’t be used for any other purpose without express permission. It is proper etiquette to give the contributor credit.
As some of you are aware, my story last week was based on fact. It’s been a busy summer, fraught with highs and lows. The story and picture are both reruns from 2014. A handful of you were part of Friday Fictioneers. Feel free to rerun your own story from that week.
Word Count: 100
C’EST LA VIE
When I was a co-ed I married a professional baseball player.
After a year, a specialist told us we’d never conceive.
Jack refused to adopt. He couldn’t see himself raising “another man’s bastard.”
Within weeks he divorced me and married a fan.
Devastated, I left for France. In Apremont-sur-Allier I found healing in Ranier’s arms.
“All I have to offer is my farm and my love,” he said.
“I can’t give you children,” I said.
“All I want is your heart.”
Today we greeted our fourth son, the spitting image of his father.
Jack? No runs. No hits. No heirs.