Cheryl walked into the living room to see toys and children’s books scattered about. Jason was sitting in the middle of the mess playing with his toy truck.
“Vrrrrooooom!” he cried, pushing it around.
Cheryl knew he’d never clean up the mess himself and the task would fall to her, as always, but she didn’t mind. Jason was the love of her life. She adored his innocence and child-like wonder. At night, before tucking him into bed, she’d read to him from his large collection of books. He’d sit wide-eyed as she described the adventures of heroes of every kind, human and animal alike. He loved story-time.
She knelt beside him and ruffled his hair.
“Hey slugger, whatcha doin’?” she asked.
“The fire truck is going to put out a fire!” he burst with such enthusiasm.
Cheryl took a seat beside him and started to play. For a moment, her eyes caught the large scar on his head, that traced from his left ear down to his neck. She remembered the doctors telling her that even if he woke from his coma, the trauma to his brain from the car accident would likely cause seriously impaired cognitive function.
She smiled at her 42 year old husband, with his favorite truck. He wasn’t the man she married, but her love for him was as strong as ever.
[This is my entry into the Flash Fiction Challenge for Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner by Roger Shipp. Write a story based on a photo prompt and introductory sentence in 200 words or less.]