Cheryl looked into Randy’s eyes. She’d always loved his eyes. They were this beautiful shade of green; whenever they weren’t red from the alcohol or glossy from the drugs. But she rarely saw her husband then. He would leave for days at a time. Then he’d come back, crash, and ask her forgiveness. Not necessarily in that order.
There was a time it wasn’t like this. Cheryl remembered how happy they used to be. And so, each time he begged for help, swore he wanted to get clean, wanted things to go back, she believed him. It was what she wanted too.
PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields