Maartje (maartje) wrote in flashfiction100,

Pet (100)

I know they giggle behind my back. They call me a trophy, thinking I don't accompany him for any other reason than to make his ex-wife envious.

The real reason is that I love him. He's 30 years older, balding, and I love him. I hope he loves me too, but even though I am not sure of that, I still got what I want.

I am my own person. If anything, he is my trophy, my lapdog, someone who loves me because without me he's lost. I love him, and he needs me. We're happy, does it matter how?


Unrelated to the story: there are a few nice helps for writing at
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