Cold feet

She’d had cold feet for weeks. ‘Am I really supposed to spend the rest of my life with this man?’ She was so young, only 23, with possibly 70 more years infront of her. Seventy more years? With one man? She’d hardly lived yet.
And neither had Brian when he killed himself.
It was a nice day for a white wedding. All arrangements had been made and everything had gone according to plan. But no one but Laura saw this coming.
She hadn’t shown at the wedding. No one could find her.
But after a week, Brian found his gun. And Laura found him. In a pool of blood. She fell to the ground weeping, touched his bare foot. Cold. Who knew?

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