One Last Look by Thom J. Wallace (371 words)

 I love the feeling of being alone. Outside I can hear the kids playing and the traffic up on the main road, but here it all seems a million miles away. Here in my own little bubble all I can hear are the ticking of the clock and the distant gurgle of the freezer.

I walk into the bedroom and cast my eyes around. The bedroom linen is fresh and smells faintly of a summer meadow. In the air hangs another more subtle smell. Of jasmine. Of oranges – her perfume, it's a scent I know so well. I walk over to the bedside table and pick up the bottle; something by a designer I'd never heard of and I inhale deeply from the aperture of the atomiser, gorgeous. I place it carefully back down on the glass tabletop and pick up the black necklace on the stand at the side of it, admiring the beauty of the craftsmanship as it glistens in my hands. After a few brief moments that feel like eternity I hang the necklace back up as best I can and turn towards the wardrobe. Sliding back the mirrored glass doors to look at the dresses and blouses she has hanging there, I run my fingers across them all, enjoying the textures of the different fabrics as they slip through my fingers, admiring the quality of the workmanship. There's a brief commotion outside which shocks me to my sense but after a moment I realise, it's only a child screaming and I soon calm down and find myself back in my own private world.

After a few more minutes of looking into drawers and picking up ornaments, I take one last look around the bedroom and pull gently at the corner of the duvet, straightening out a tiny crease in the material. I quietly head downstairs and slip out via the back door, quietly locking it behind me.

She might think that something isn't quite as she left it, and she might think someone has been inside her home, but she won't know. And with that lingering thought I quietly and contentedly walk away, knowing it'll be another couple of weeks before she's away with her boyfriend again.

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