Dirty laundry

April watched the sheets dancing in the warm Spring breezes and smiled as she realised what pleasure such a mundane task as washing became on a day like this. In a moment she would step outside, most likely barefoot so she could feel the fresh grass under her feet and gather in the laundry that smelt like the breezes which had dried it. In a moment she would think about making love with her husband under those fragrant sheets. In a moment her whole life would be turning upside down.

For when April collected the duvet she felt something small and bundled in a corner. Reaching in to pull out the expected stray sock, she removed instead frilly underwear. It was black and delicately patterned with fleur-de-lis. Funny how you noticed such things she thought, as shock fought its way to forefront of mind pushing out aesthetic appreciation. For April did not own frilly black underwear with a fleur-de-lis pattern...

Later as they glared at each other over the dinner table - the underwear of guilt between them - she waited for an explanation.Waited for the dagger of deceit and betrayal to strike in her heart.

"Whose are they?" she asked again, her voice too made of cold steel. "Heather?" she questioned. "She never stops flirting with you... Or Isabel?" Sly sneaky Isabel who coveted everything her elder sister held dear.

The silence continued as Bradley sat forlornly head in hands. Finally he raised his eyes to hers and spoke.

"Not Heather's. Not Isabel's" he stated, humiliation written across his features...

"Mine."

***

A short story in response to a creative prompt by another writing Wright! Kat Wright's Ticc Tock - where this week we wrote about something unexpected on the washing line.