She remembered how she would watch her son play in the garden. He would jump in the puddles in his brown boots and dirty his trousers but she didn’t mind. The look on his face was worth it.
She had kept all his old things in a trunk; everything from those boots to his toy cars and every drawing he ever made.
Each year near the holidays he would promise her that he would visit but he never came. It was that time again. The phone rang; it was him telling her he couldn’t make it.
It was time to take out the trunk again.
This story has been written for Friday Fictioneers.