Monday Make-A-Story ™ This week's writing prompt

Writing to spec – you’ve heard the term.  It means writing what the publisher wants.  Can you do it?  In our Monday writing prompt feature - Make-A-Story ™, we ask you to create a story with these elements.  The story can be set in any time period, any length, must adhere to our guidelines and have our standard Christian world view.

Submit your story to us at any time using our regular submission guidelines, but be sure to note which Make-A-Story ™ prompt (note the date and the prompts) inspired your story.    

Today's prompt:

A hat

A child

A lightning storm

Holy Week: Easter Sunday

"Do not be afraid! I know that you are seeking Jesus the crucified. He is not here, for he has been raised just as he said." (Matthew 28: 5-6)

He is risen! Alleluia! A Joy beyond all understanding is upon us. Christ lives!

Easter is the beginning of our new life with Christ. Let's renew our commitment to live a holy life. Let's create time for additional prayer where we can commune our Risen Lord. Let's ask the Risen Christ for courage and strength we need to become faithful witnesses to the World.

Holy Week: Holy Saturday

"We were indeed buried with him through baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might live in newness of life." (Romans 6: 4)

Today, the darkness of the tomb begins to be replaced with a growing joy and anticipation. Christ will soon rise to defeat death and to throw open the gates of Heaven.

Let's reflect for a few moments on the ways in which Christ has brought us out of our own personal dark moments and carried our weaknesses and fears, our troubles and doubts, into the light of a new day. Let's rejoice and give thanks to God for our wondrous salvation.

Holy Week: Good Friday

"But He was pierced for our offenses, crushed for our sins; upon him was the chastisement that makes us whole, by his stripes we were healed. We had all gone astray like sheep, each following his own way; but the Lord laid upon Him the guilt of us all." (Isaiah 53:5-6)

3:00 PM. The blackest hour. Jesus has died. Innocent of all crime, He willingly went to the cross for one reason and one reason only--so that you might live. You. It's personal. If the only sin on earth was the white lie you told last week, He would have been born and suffered and died, so that you would not have to pay the wage for that sin: death.

Yes, this is a black day. We have crucified Christ with our sins. Let's try to keep an awareness of Our Lord's suffering in our hearts throughout the day, and at three o'clock, let's pause for a moment or two of silent meditation as a remembrance of Jesus breathing his last.

Holy Week: Holy Thursday

"While they were eating, Jesus took bread, said the blessing, broke it, and giving it to his disciples said, "Take and eat; this is my body." Then he took a cup, gave thanks, and gave it to them, saying, "Drink from it, all of you, for this is my blood of the covenant, which will be shed on behalf of many for the forgiveness of sins." (Matthew 26:26-28) 

On this night, Jesus celebrated the Passover seder with His disciples. An important day for all Christians--the day Christ tells us of the new and everlasting covenant. For Catholics, this holds an additional significance: The institution of the Eucharist, the "source and summit" of the faith, which is Christ's Body and Blood.

Let's reflect today on the blood of the new covenant. By His stripes we are healed. By His blood we are redeemed. By His resurrection, we are saved from death. As we walk into tomb with Him, we have a reason to celebrate!

Catholics, let's also ask for the graces we need to truly believe in Christ's presence in the Eucharist and to approach the altar with reverence and awe.

Holy Week: Wednesday

“The Lord GOD has given me a well-trained tongue, That I might know how to speak to the weary a word that will rouse them.  Morning after morning  he opens my ear that I may hear;  And I have not rebelled, have not turned back. I gave my back to those who beat me, my cheeks to those who plucked my beard; My face I did not shield  from buffets and spitting. The Lord GOD is my help, therefore I am not disgraced; I have set my face like flint, knowing that I shall not be put to shame." (Isaiah 50:4-7)

Let's reflect on Isaiah's words which foretell Our Lord's suffering. We've all said or done things that have caused others to suffer. Let's call to mind those times and ask forgiveness for times we have caused others to suffer.

Holy Week: Tuesday

"I will make you a light to the nations, that my salvation may reach to the ends of the earth." (Isaiah 49:6)

We are called to be a light to the world. To be a witness for Jesus in our thoughts, words, and deeds. But how easy it is to put on Christianity for a few hours on Sunday, and then set it down on Tuesdays--especially if we are put into an uncomfortable situation. But how faithful is that, to be a Christian only when it is convenient or there is no risk involved?

Let's take a few moments to reflect on how easy it is sometimes to fall from grace. Judas was a faithful apostle, but then betrayed Jesus in the worst way. Peter was a faithful Apostle, but then denied Jesus three times before he realized his mistake and repented. Let's examine our own lives to identify weaknesses or temptations that may cause us to betray Our Lord if we are not careful.

Holy Week: Monday

"Wait for the Lord with courage; be stouthearted, and wait for the Lord." (Psalm 27:14)

Monday of Holy Week is a day that can be almost lost in the daily grind of everyday life. We're looking towards Easter, but see no special significance in this day. We're waiting for the week to pass, waiting on Resurrection Day to arrive. Many of us don't like waiting. It makes us antsy. But great things can come out of waiting.

Mary and Martha had to wait for Jesus. Lazarus died while they were waiting. Yet, Jesus didn't forsake them. He had a miracle in store, and he raised Lazarus from the tomb. What a great resurrection day that was! Do you think witnesses to that miracle had their faith strengthened?

Today, let's ask Jesus to raise us above any obstacles that prevent us from drawing nearer to Him. Let's take a few moments to reflect on the blessings God has placed in our midst--those both large and small.

Holy Week: Palm Sunday

It's Palm Sunday (Passion Sunday). Today begins the holiest week in the year. This is the week of our redemption. The week Jesus made salvation open to all. On this blog this week, we're going to put aside writing related issues, and each day, we'll post a short meditation. As we work our way towards Easter, lets take a few moments each day to remember why we call ourselves Christians.

I pray you all have a faith-filled and holy week that brings you closer to Christ.
Blessings,
Nicola

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“Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!" (Luke 19:38)

Today marks the day that Jesus entered Jerusalem to joyful cheers of," Hosannah." So many people loved him. So many had witnessed his miracles of healing and hope. The believed Jesus was the key to a better life--and they were right!

Let's take some time to focus on those things that will help us to strengthen the faith we have in Jesus' promises. Let's ask ourselves: Have we made improvements in our prayer life? Have we offered sacrifices to God? Have we given alms or service to those in need? Do we truly believe He is the Messiah enough to put ourselves and our understanding aside and fully rely in Him?

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Title Spotlight: Masquerade Marriage by Anne Greene

April 16, 1746 - Drumossie Moor, Scotland—the Culloden
Estate

Brody MacCaulay woke to a pounding head and gut-wrenching
thirst. What happened? The wind and sleet had blown through. Smoke from blazing
canons no longer choked him. He no longer heard the deafening din of battle.
Silence hung around him, slit at times by weak cries of wounded men.

Cold weight pinned him upon icy ground. He could scarce draw
a breath. Fingers dangled in his face. He felt the hand. Cold and stiff. He
jerked back his own. Slowly he realized three clansmen crushed him against the
frozen earth.

Even as his heart flamed hot hating everything English, the
sound of approaching voices alerted him to lie still. He dug numb fingers into
blood-dyed ground to keep from springing up and using his dirk.

Duncan, Collin, and Da were dead. He’d seen them fall. Sharp
pain bit into his chest. He gritted his teeth. And Angus? Brody’s stomach heaved.
Only a protecting angel could have spared Angus. Darkness, black as the smoke
of gun powder, descended deep inside Brody’s mind. For certain his favorite
brother lay dead, too.

Brody wedged his anguish deep inside his heart, slammed the
door, and disciplined his thoughts into calculated coolness. He was a warrior.

The voices drew closer. Clipped. Not softly burred.

A sliver of moon lit ice upon the ground, casting enough
light to see heaps of bodies, twisted limbs. The voices grew close. Two scarlet-clad
English soldiers stalked among the kilted bodies.

A wounded Highlander looked up at them and begged. “Water.”

With cold-blooded deliberateness, one of the soldiers ran
him through with his bayonet, strangling the Highlander’s weak voice into silence.

Brody slammed his eyes shut, hardly dared suck in a breath,
and counted his heartbeats. English voices spoke so close that hair on the nape
of his neck spiked. As the awful sound of a bayonet slashed into a nearby body,
he fought back bile rising into his throat. “I say, I do believe we’ve
dispatched all the wounded Scots.”

“Right. Nasty job.”

The first soldier snorted. “Sure to be an awful stink.
Letting all these bodies rot.”

“Good riddance, say I.”

Boots clumped off. The voices faded.

“’Tis almost light.” Brody’s own whisper, though hoarse as a
rusty hinge, infused him with courage. Somehow he lived. He must fight his way
to Ma and Fiona. Protect them before the English hunted them down. A piper’s
family proved precious booty for scavenger soldiers. With Da and his brothers
dead, his duty lay in protecting Ma and Fiona.

He’d do whatever it took.

He struggled free of the weight sprawled atop him. The dirk
lay half-frozen to the ground beneath his cheek. He gripped the handle of the sgian-dhu,
worked it free, and jammed it into the sheath on his right leg. Panting, numb
hands planted on frozen earth, he pushed to his knees. The scent of bog-myrtle
and blood clogged his nostrils. He gazed over the silent battlefield.

What he saw would haunt him forever.

Thousands of men lay still in the blue moonlight. The
strength and youth of Scotland’s Highlands sprawled in heaps across the great
expanse of the battlefield. Pale twisted limbs gleamed in the cold light.
Bloody clan banners lay beneath bodies already stiff.

A stab of guilt pierced Brody’s rage. Why had God spared
him? If his brothers hadna sent him to the rear, there would not be a male
MacCaulay left alive. Mayhap that was why he found breathing so unnatural. He
shook his head. Dizziness. His pulse pounded, increasing the thundering pain.
Touching his bloody left temple, he closed his right eye. The carnage before
him went black.

He whispered, “Canna see with my left eye. Appears my head’s
no’ as hard as Angus insisted.”

Angus.

Brody shoved aside the heart-stopping thought of his
brother. For Ma’s sake, for Fiona’s sake, he must escape before English
sentinels spotted him. Hunched double, hiding among the bodies, he retrieved
his targe and pipes and strapped them atop the claymore on his back. Despite
the cold wind, sweat beaded his forehead. Belly pushed into frozen dirt, he
crawled south toward the line of trees growing by the river Nairn. He’d head
for high country. Find a place to hide.

Barely able to see his own hands ploughing the earth, he crawled
between bodies of family, friends, acquaintances drawn close in the heat of
battle. Bodies, clad in blood-drenched tartan stared wide-eyed at the waning
moon.

Hurry! Daylight threatened. If the English found him,
he’d be murdered.

“I willna give them that satisfaction.”

Editing Tip: avoid episodic writing

Episodic writing is inserting a scene that serves no other purpose than to add word count to a story. Remember, each scene should pull the reader further into the story--should make the reader loathe to put down the book. That means that each scene should either reveal something about our POV character or should take the plot/conflict to the next level. If it does neither of these, the scene should be rewritten or cut completely.Let's take a look at an example.

Eg:

The doorbell rang and Sarah rushed to the door. She opened it to find the pizza delivery boy on the doorstep. "Hi," she said.

"Hi," he replied. He looked down at the box. "That will be twelve dollars, please."

Sarah, turned to get her purse from the table by the door. She pulled out her wallet and found a ten and two ones. Handing them to the delivery boy she said, "Thanks."

He handed her the pizza box and turned and walked to his car.

You'll notice, as a reader, you are not engaged by this exchange. Who cares about a pizza getting delivered? What does it have to do with the story? How does it advance the plot? What does it tell us about the characters? ... the answer to those questions is No one and Nothing. This is a meaningless exchange. Filler.

But let's look at it fleshed out a little:

Eg.

The doorbell rang and Sarah rushed to the door. Hope guided her feet. Maybe Kyle really would come back. She opened the door and a  pizza delivery boy held up a box. "Hi," he said.

"Hi." The simple word choked her--or maybe it was the tears she swallowed. She should have known better than to think Kyle would come running back to her. Why would he? She didn't deserve forgiveness.

The pizza kid looked down at the box. "That will be twelve dollars, please."

Sarah stared at the box. Why had she ordered this pizza? She wasn't hungry. Would probably never be hungry again. Kyle had taken her heart and her stomach--for food and for life.

Oh, who was she kidding? This wasn't Kyle's fault. It was hers. She'd lied to him, not the other way around.

"Ma'am?"

She glanced up and then turned to get her purse from the table by the door. Hungry or not, she'd eat this pizza, wallow in self-pity, and maybe it would make her feel better. She handed the money to the delivery boy. "Thanks."

He handed her the pizza box and walked to his car.

In this second example, there's still not a lot going on. It's still a scene about a pizza being delivered. But, we do learn something. We discover something about the character (her sorrow, her remorse, her tendency to wallow in self-pity) and we discover something about the conflict (she lied.) There is a purpose for the scene. Once we can clearly see the purpose for the scene, the next step is to "activate" as much as possible and to produce a deeper point-of-view...but that's another lesson, entirely.

Happy writing!

Title Spotlight:: Yesterday's Promise by Delia Latham

“I can’t believe you, of all people, can get that look on your face because I have a son without the benefit of a husband. At least I’m there for my son, and I will be as long as God allows me to walk this earth. I would never, under any circumstances, never abandon someone I love. Never.  It’s right there.” She pointed a trembling finger at Lissy's house and fumbled for the handle as Brock swung the car to the curb.

By the time he brought the vehicle to a full stop, she had the door open and one foot outside the car. Tears burned her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

“Hannah, I…” Brock’s bewildered expression almost passed for convincing. “I’m sorry, really. I didn’t mean…”

“Lissy will take us home.” She ignored his apology, then slammed the car door and marched up the sidewalk, head high, back ramrod stiff.

Davey flew out the door to meet her, his dark curls bouncing. “Mommy! Mommy, I missed-ed you!”

Hannah picked him up, hugging him to her. “Hey, big guy! I missed-ed you too.” She rarely encouraged his mispronunciation of words, but at the moment she wanted Davey to stay little for a very long time.

“Who’s that man, Mommy?” One arm around Hannah’s neck, her son pointed to the car where Brock sat watching them. “Huh? Who is he?”

“Nobody, Davey.” She set the small boy on his feet. Taking his hand, she led him to Lissy's door. Behind her, she heard the BMW pull away, but she refused to look back.

Only your daddy, sweet boy. He’s only your daddy.

Title Spotlight: Daffodils by Donna B. Snow

The doorbell echoing through the house was the last straw…as
if the pounding hadn’t been enough.

“I’m coming already,” Margaret Ellington snarled. Whoever
was banging deserved whatever came out of her mouth. Pushing hair out of her eyes,  she snapped the lock and yanked the door open. 

Margaret’s face froze. Oh, Lord, help me.

Sky blue eyes stared back at her—Lukas North.

His lopsided grin would have suited a ten-year-old boy after
getting away with some mischievous prank. Eyebrows raised, he lifted a cup of  coffee from the crook of his elbow and held it towards her. Pink lettering on the cup showed the logo from the coffee shop around the corner. The bright morning sun set red-gold highlights aglitter in his hair while his eyes crinkled at the corners. A dimple dipped into his cheek.

Margaret forced her gaze back up to his. “What are you doing
here?” She groaned at her own rudeness, a moment later remembering his pounding
on the door. He always had brought out the best—and the worst in her. She
pushed the screen open as he continued to hold the cup towards her. Fingertip
to fingertip, Margaret felt the tingle shoot up her arm. She took the coffee
and let the screen door slap closed between them as she gripped the door frame.

Not Lukas. Never again. Ten years...Lord, help me. I
can’t deal with him today. Leaving is hard enough. Please, Lord, give me
strength. She shivered then glanced up and down the street, refusing to
meet his gaze. Lukas had always seen too much—as if he could see straight into
her soul.

Margaret lowered her head and sighed. A peek at her watch
and she looked down the street again, hoping for a savior in the form of a
moving van. They should be here in about fifteen minutes.

She stared at a van parked on the street. Why is he here?
Why isn’t he saying anything? Silently, she raised the coffee towards her mouth
and a waft of steam touched her lips. She lowered it without taking a sip.

The vehicles in the driveway distracted her from Lukas as a
third pickup pulled in. The door of the red van parked out front opened. She
looked from one vehicle to the other trying to see who was in them. What are
these trucks doing in my yard?

Jamestown, California was still a small town where everyone
knew everyone, at least the faces that belonged, even some that passed through,
often on their way to Sonora. And the people gathering in her yard belonged
here. They had been friends with her and Peter for years. But they all said
goodbye at the party last night.

She turned back to Lukas. He stood patiently watching,
waiting…

Before she could ask, he waved a hand towards the driveway.
“Your caravan awaits.”

Margaret’s brow furrowed. “The moving van should be here
soon. I told you yesterday that I was all set.”

He took a sip of his coffee and glanced over his shoulder.
“What? You don’t think we have enough help here?” He turned back towards
Margaret, his blue eyes frowning at her.

She glanced away, her fingers digging into the foam cup. “I
don’t want to put anyone out. It would just be easier…”

“Easier for you, maybe, but we’d like to help. A lot of us
will miss you and we want the chance to show you how we feel.” He held her
gaze, his voice soft spoken.

Margaret stared into his eyes, mesmerized by what she
thought she saw there. Heat—a slow burn, a smoldering fire. He couldn’t
possibly still…She shook herself and looked away. His problem. He’s the one who
walked away.

Forgiveness…

She cleared her throat then looked at her watch again.
“Remember the small going away party last night?” She pictured him manning the
grill, spatula in hand. That was supposed to be their goodbye. The kiss at the
end of the night had been enough of a surprise to keep her tossing and turning
for hours. She didn’t need any more unexpected surprises like that. “What am I
supposed to do? Leave the moving company a note that I’m all set?” Once again,
Margaret lifted the cup for a tentative sip.

Lukas raised his brows and grinned.

Oh, that grin. She could feel her lips twitching, wanting to
answer in kind.

“Not to worry. I already took care of that.”

Margaret narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean, you took care
of it? They are still coming, right?”

He shook his head.

Can’t he at least have the decency to look a little bit
ashamed?

“I cancelled them yesterday after I talked with you.”

“You what? There’s a fee for cancelling. If I’m paying them
regardless, you better believe they’ll be providing their services.” She
clenched her fist. Some things just never changed. He always did think he knew
what was best. How dare he? She wanted to stomp her foot at his
high-handedness—slam the door in his face. Oh, she was tempted. Lucky for him
God had made a new woman of her. He was the only one holding back her temper,
she was sure.

“I took care of that, too.”

She rolled her eyes. “Wonderful. So I guess that makes it
all right.”

“No, I’m just saving you the expense since it wasn’t your
doing.” His tone was steady, the smile falling flat when his gaze met hers.

He sounded so reasonable. Just who does he think he is?
As if he has any say in my life anymore. You gave up that right a long time
ago, buddy. She shook her head, trying to quiet the argument going on in
her mind. She glared at him, tilting her chin. “And what if I want the moving
company to come, anyway?”

He quirked a brow and didn’t respond.

Margaret sighed and closed her eyes. “Look, I don’t want
anyone getting hurt moving my stuff. The furniture is heavy and I would really
rather the professionals take care of it. And what if something gets broken? I
don’t want anyone feeling responsible for any damages. The movers have
insurance for that kind of thing.”

“We’ve all helped friends move at one time or another. We
know how to lift stuff. No one’s going to get hurt and nothing will be broken.”

“You can’t guarantee that.”

“No, but I can guarantee that no one would hold it against
you even if they did get hurt. I can also guarantee that no feelings will be
hurt by you accepting the help that’s offered. No such guarantees on a
refusal.” His stare bit into her.

Her gaze broke away first. How neatly he boxed her in with
his words…and what a shrew she would look like if she sent everyone away—if
they would even leave. Plus, it was probably too late to reschedule the movers,
and she had to be moved out today. The new owners would be here tomorrow.

“I’m sure they don’t want to waste a whole day out of their
vacation schedule just to help me move. With Christmas just past and getting
themselves ready to head back to school I’m sure they have better things to
do.”

He stared at her and raised his eyebrows.

Darn the man. She sighed. “Look, the new house is an hour
away from here, in Solsta.” She glanced at the vehicles in her yard, then back
at Lukas. “Let me at least pay for their gas.”

Lukas shook his head.

Margaret slapped a hand on her hip. “What difference does it
make? I would have been paying the movers.”

“Nope. We’re all here to help a friend,” he answered calmly.
He took a sip of his coffee and looked over his shoulder. “Oops, looks like the
gang’s all here.”

A blue car pulled up. Great. The principal and first grade
teacher. They stepped out and waved, smiling as they started up the walkway.

Lukas rubbed the back of his neck and grinned.

“Hi.” Her smile quivered as they approached. She lifted a
hand to brush the hair away from her eyes again. “Thank you so much. I really
didn’t want to put anyone out, especially just after Christmas like this.”

“And Peter, God rest his soul, would have skinned me alive
if he knew I didn’t help you with your move.” The principal came halfway up the
walkway and crossed his arms over his chest, planting his feet apart. “Matter
of fact, he would never forgive me for letting you go to begin with.”

He was right. Peter, her husband, would have told her, in no
uncertain terms, that these people cared about her and that she should let them
help. They were her friends.

As a matter of fact, if Peter were the one speaking, he
would tell her she couldn’t run away from it all, that she would carry it with
her no matter where she went. He would also have told her that God had a plan
and that she ought to pray to understand what His will was in all this.

Oh, Lord, I know that, but Peter’s gone home to be with
You. I have to go. I can’t stay here. After two years of stumbling around
and mourning her half-hearted attempt at marriage, she couldn’t live with the
grief or the guilt anymore. She knew God had forgiven her, but she didn’t
deserve it.

I’m so sorry, Peter, sorry I wasn’t the wife I should
have been…sorry I didn’t love you as much as I should have…sorry I never gave
you the child you so desperately wanted.

Margaret took a deep breath, blinking her eyes until the
watery vision cleared. Worrying her bottom lip, she looked from one face to
another, then cleared her throat and sniffed. “Well, I guess since you’re here,
and the movers aren’t coming…” She looked pointedly at Lukas. “…I’ll have to
put you all to work.” She pushed the screen door open. “Come on in. We might as
well get started.”

Lukas held the door and stepped in last. He stood beside her
and looked around. “No stray Christmas decorations that you might have missed?”

Margaret turned away and stepped towards the kitchen. “I
didn’t put any up this year.” Or last year...

She looked around at everyone. They seemed to know just
where to start, so Margaret continued into the kitchen. Lukas glanced at the
boxes and nodded towards them. “Why don’t you finish what you were doing? We’ll
load the furniture and by the time we’re done you’ll have those ready to go. Is
that the last of it to be packed up?”

Margaret nodded, and then watched everyone find their place
with well-choreographed steps, each person going where they were needed. Jokes
and laughter filled the house as they loaded her life into their trucks.

Margaret wandered back to the kitchen to pack the pan she
used for breakfast this morning, plus the few other items still in the
cupboards. A half hour later, after checking all the cabinets and drawers one
last time, she taped the final box closed and lifted her head in time to see a
lamp sliding towards the floor.

“Whoa, easy there,” Lukas said from the doorway, his gaze
colliding with Margaret’s. He turned back to the job at hand. “Nice save.”

She released her breath and looked away, brushed off her
jeans and walked down the hall without a word. Wandering from room to room, she
double-checked everything. Closets were empty, no boxes forgotten. The shadows
on the walls outlined stark reminders of where pictures had been. The
unfinished projects—a cracked floorboard, chipped molding, a small hole in the
plaster, all stared at her accusingly.

Margaret closed her eyes as she clutched the doorframe. Oh,
God, why Peter? He was the good one.

I’m so sorry, Peter. A tear splashed onto the carpet.
Margaret took a deep breath, wiped her cheek, and stepped into what had been
Peter’s sickroom. She walked to the window seat and stared out into the
backyard, arms clutched around her middle. There would be no sound of children
playing, no sitting on the glider growing old together. She put a hand on the
window. If only I could have loved you more—

“Any more, Megs?” Lukas’ footsteps grew louder as he came
down the hall.

She wiped away another tear as it dribbled down her cheek.

“Oh, hey, there you are.” He hesitated in the doorway,
resting a hand on the frame. He lowered his voice. “You OK?”

She chewed on her bottom lip and nodded, afraid that if he
came near her she would collapse in those arms; arms she knew were strong
enough to hold her up. Arms she had missed for years. She hated herself for
wanting to feel them wrap around her again.

A glimmer of a smile creased his lips, as if sharing her
pain. She remembered other smiles, other glances across different rooms. She
sighed and looked back outside.

After ten years, the memory of Lukas disappearing from her
life still haunted her. She had worn his engagement ring through the last half
of their senior year. Then a month before their wedding day, he left. No
goodbye, just a letter—as if that was enough. Then poof. He was gone.

She gave the ring to her mother and never saw it again.

The pain of lost love still lingered. It was best left in
the past, but she had never figured out how to let it go. God knew she tried.

The contradiction tore at her heart. Losing Lukas hurt worse
than anything else in her life, but the love never died. If only she could have
loved Peter with that same fervor, instead of the half-hearted love she had
given him. Oh, she had tried, but it wasn’t the same.

Margaret took a deep breath. Her gaze lingered on the
backyard for a long moment. Straightening her shoulders, she led the way down
the hall, stepping silently past Lukas.

___________________________________________

Daffodils, Available now. White Rose Publishing