Wasn’t it lucky that they had the oak tree? That beautiful thing, a colossal span of gnarled knots and twisted tendrils, a heaving mass split into wispy, skyward bronchioles.
She dug, careful not to disturb the roots.
How about a deal? You take him. I move on. You grow, I grow.
She’d been there every season, whispering her hell to it. What he said. What he did.
Later she twisted in the sheets, uneasy.
Then—a sprawling shadow over her moonlit room. A gentle staccato that lulled her into a smiling sleep.
Like outstretched fingertips.
Tapping yes on her window.
K.R. Lai is a writer based in Shanghai. When she’s not procrastinating and fighting Imposter Syndrome, she settles down with her laptop and tackles the blank page with indignance. IG: instagram.com/thesilverpocketwatch/.
The Centifictionist 
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