Someone’s painted over her. Did they think whiting out the maid would erase messes they’ve made?
He’s stood here before giddy with love and lust, the unbidden forbidden jarring him alive in this very spot. He’d breathed it in, then slain it and handed its corpse to the maid to hide.
The ghosts of velvet black fingers torture his palm. A boy’s neon smile, legs long, arms strong, wrapped around him – the boy he’d thought for a second he too could be.
He reaches for his wife, her pale feathery touch exorcising the terrifying sweetness of the past.
He walks away once more. But the maid will always be there; wary of being discovered hiding the truth behind the line he wishes he could cross.