Excerpt: As Moths to the Fire

A moth fluttered in on a cold wind from the doorway, drawn blindly to the sputtering light of the fireplace. It jerked drunkenly in the withering air before diving head first to its death. Otto McGregor closed the heavy wooden door behind him, and hung his coat on the rack.

Mona was asleep by the fire, tucked snugly into her arm chair, the fire casting shadow across her peaceful face. She had been trying to wait up for him, eager, and always worried.

Otto’s face softened in the heat of the room and the sight of his young wife’s sleeping face. He brushed her hair back and kissed her gently atop the head, his cold fingers stirring her from sleep.

“Otto…?” she mumbled, her tired lips barely voicing the word.

“Hello Mona,” he whispered back, his hand still resting on her cheek, “I’m home.”