Margaret sat alone at her kitchen table, her gaze fixed on the urn that now held all that remained of her husband, Frank. The house was quiet, almost unnervingly so, without his loud laughter, the hum of the TV blaring sports, or the sound of his boots trudging through the hallway. They had been married for nearly 30 years, and though Frank wasn’t perfect—far from it—he had been hers.
Margaret poured herself a generous glass of wine, taking a slow sip as her lips curled into a wry smile. The events of the past week had been a whirlwind, a haze of condolences, casseroles, and awkward hugs. But now, finally alone, she had something she needed to say.
She scooted the urn closer, her fingers lightly tapping the cool metal surface. “Well, Frank,” she began, her voice carrying both affection and a hint of mischief. “Here we are. Just you, me, and all those promises you made over the years.”
She leaned back in her chair, letting the memories flood in. Frank had always been a dreamer, full of big ideas and grand gestures that didn’t always pan out. But there were a few promises that had stuck with her over the years, lingering like unfinished business.
Margaret reached for her fur coat draped over the back of the chair. She held it up, letting the soft fabric catch the light. “Remember this?” she asked the urn. “You always promised you’d get me a fur coat. Said I deserved to look as glamorous as those women in the magazines. Well, guess what? I finally got one. Used some of that insurance money you left behind. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
She stood up and twirled in the coat, as if expecting Frank to whistle in approval. Instead, the silence was her only companion. She chuckled to herself and sat back down, draping the coat over her shoulders.
And the car,” she continued, swirling the wine in her glass. “You always talked about trading in that old clunker for something new. Said we’d go for a drive down the coast, top down, wind in our hair. Well, Frank, I got the car too. A brand-new red convertible. Just like I always wanted.”
She took another sip of wine, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “I hope you don’t mind me using your hard-earned insurance money for these things. After all, a promise is a promise, right?”
Margaret leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table as her tone grew softer. “But you know, Frank, there’s one promise I never kept. Something I told you I’d do years ago, back when we were younger and full of dreams.”
She paused, letting the moment hang in the air. A sly smile spread across her face as she lowered her voice to a whisper. “You remember, don’t you? That one thing you always joked about. The thing I said I’d do one day, but never quite got around to.”
Margaret reached for the urn, her fingers brushing against the smooth surface. “Well, Frank,” she said, her grin widening, “here it comes.”
With a theatrical flourish, she unscrewed the lid of the urn and gave it a playful shake. The absurdity of the moment hit her all at once, and she burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the empty kitchen. Tears streamed down her face as she doubled over, her laughter mixing with a bittersweet ache.
She could almost hear Frank’s voice in her head, grumbling about her dark sense of humor. “Oh, don’t give me that look,” she said, wiping her eyes. “You’d have laughed too, admit it.”
As her laughter subsided, Margaret screwed the lid back on the urn and placed it gently back on the shelf. She took a deep breath, feeling a strange sense of closure.
“Rest easy, Frank,” she said, raising her glass in a toast. “I kept my promise. In my own way.”
The house was quiet again, but this time, it felt less lonely. Margaret leaned back in her chair, finishing her wine and savoring the small victory. She knew life would go on, and though she missed Frank, she also knew he’d appreciate the humor in her unconventional farewell.
Margaret stood up, her fur coat wrapped snugly around her shoulders, and turned off the kitchen light. As she headed upstairs, she glanced back at the urn one last time. “Goodnight, Frank,” she whispered. “And thanks for the coat.”
Edward Wade is a talented writer known for his unique blend of humor and storytelling. With a passion for making people laugh, he specializes in creating captivating stories and witty jokes. As a contributor to various platforms, Edward has gained recognition for his ability to craft lighthearted, yet thought-provoking content that resonates with readers of all ages. His witty style and sharp sense of humor have earned him a loyal following, making him a go-to writer for those in search of a good laugh and engaging narratives. Whether it’s a hilarious short story or a clever joke, Edward’s writing never fails to entertain.
