Mid-winter. Snow. My turn to have the kids. The boy and the girl. I never know what to do with them but I have to have them, what with the fuss I made during the court case, demanding regular access because I’m a caring father, I really am, despite what she and her mother say.
I’ll take them to the café in the park. Again. There’s plenty of forbidden fruit there – burgers and chips; ice-cream. And we can watch the joggers, the people walking their dogs, the other kids running around throwing snowballs, having fun.
We’ve nothing to talk about.
Written for Friday Fictioneers. Find ’em here.