The chair sat empty, a thin layer of dust beginning to collect on the arms. She stared at it, wishing as she always did that he would reappear.
The aneurism was so sudden. One day he was here, one day he wasn’t. No more ‘conjugal visits’ as she and Frank used to call their relations. It was an inside joke, one that had started when they married, that Frank was now in prison for the rest of his life ... hence the conjugal visits.
Prison would be better than reality; at least she knew she’d see him again.