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Dear Abby - A Flash Fiction Story
Published November 30, 2013 by Mary McShane
"Dear Abby, I’ve got proof that my husband has been cheating on me. For over a year, he lied saying he was taking late shifts at the hospital. This month, I learned who the other woman is. I got her phone number off his cell phone, looked it up on the computer and it led me to an office building near Wabash Avenue.
It turns out I know her from my job and I‘m so mad. I’ve lost all love for Bill now and don’t care if I have to raise my kids on my own. Instead of confronting her, I just have to work out the details of my plan where neither of us will have him. Abby, If you knew your husband was cheating on you and learned who the woman was, what would you do?” Signed, Bill’s Wife
After three weeks, my letter was still not published in the newspaper. I worried that it got buried with the hundreds of others she received each week. I even bought some pretty pink writing paper so it would stand out. But still, she never printed it. I wanted her to notice my letter, so I made a fake email account and sent her an email but she never answered that either.
I pushed the coffee cart down the hall, entered the newsroom where my regulars were waiting for me so they could buy their morning coffee and bagels. I always park the cart near her desk.
She is reading from a pile of letters but I don’t see my pink envelope in the pile. I don't know why, but she always gave me a dollar for her thirty cent purchase so I’m careful not to give away all my change. She was always my last customer.
Jenny, who volunteers on the newspaper's coffee cart, always ogles at my desk as if she could read some part from the pile of letters.
A particularly disturbing letter written on pretty pink stationary sits hidden away in my desk drawer. I even received a few emails from several readers who sign as Bill’s Wife, one asking me why I haven’t printed her letter. If I print it, I’m afraid it’ll draw out the crazies, flooding me with more mail, saying they can give better advice than I.
But something about the way she describes her husband is vaguely familiar.
I got a dollar out of my drawer so I could get change from Jenny to use the pay phone down the hall. I always called William on my lunch break so I could plan our late dinners.
I stood up to get my morning tea.
Thank you for reading my flash fiction story.
© Mary McShane
© 2013 Mary McShane