She

Irish redhead girl story

She sat opposite me, looking out the train window, an ancient Celtic beauty about her that spoke of deep, unspoken sorrow and wild heather. I didn't like to stare because it felt slightly disloyal to my dear wife, but I could not help looking at her: flowing auburn hair, milky, freckled skin daubed with the rouge of Spring, emerald eyes that sparkled like a thousand stars.

She sighed deeply and I noticed a tear forming in her left eye, pausing a while before it descended the prettiest face I'd seen in a long time. As she wiped the tear away our eyes met, and joined, for an instant, a connecting of souls. I smiled and she smiled.

I scarcely noticed my right hand moving to cover my wedding ring.