Photo prompt © Roger Bultot
“I never meant to hurt you.”
Samuel’s words were sincere and still she found herself looking away as to not see his eyes, where a lie was sure to peek.
“The gardener should’ve never let this grow so,” she responded.
Samuel stilled, confused.
She did not explain, for perhaps it was not only the leafy fingers arching over the path and latching onto her living quarters that had been given leave to cross beyond what was sensible.
“Some bridges need be cut,” she added cryptically. “Good-bye, Samuel. Will you send the gardener to my drawing room on your way out?”