Fifteen Minutes – A Reedsy Prompt Story – #360
Copyright 2026 Nicole Peel
Birdsong trill on breeze stirs me from slumber. The world is awakening. I am warm. For a second, I am content. I hear the oil column heater click over to drive the temperature up slightly warmer in the dawnish cold.
Winter is well and truly here.
Coldest part of the day, just before dawn. I am snuggled. Warm white blanket slumped over me. The pillow is soft beneath my cheek.
I want to adjust it slightly for my neck. But I’m not ready to move a limb yet.
Then I remember.
My heart sighs.
I remember the words spoken harshly. Mine. His.
Regret fills my nervous system. I stiffen.
A sigh isn’t enough.
A slow breath isn’t enough. My shoulders remain tight, but my head knows the world is now righted.
I roll sideways and pull the blanket tighter around me, adjusting the pillow now.
Voices from years away echo in my brain.
‘You need to stand up to him,’ I hear my dear Aunty Mel say.
‘You need to protect you.’ My sister now.
‘I just don’t trust him,’ my mother.
My girlfriends stopped asking and instead just disappeared.
So there were only fake acquaintances from then on.
And all those little moments over twenty-five long years when people have asked ‘Are you okay?’ only for me to smile and respond with ‘We’re doing great,’ and the story rattles off with the lies I have told myself.
So, I closed myself off. From the truth. From everyone.
I knew I couldn’t take it anymore. Breaking my heart. Scraping my bones. Splitting my soul in two. Threatening to bleed me dry.
Confusing my children.
Creating a ‘tiptoe’ environment for their grandparents.
It was irrecoverable.
But if I took that step, everything changes. Forever.
There would be no turning back.
Finally, I built up the courage. Fifteen years, it had been on the tip of my tongue.
It’s done now. I have said the word that will finally make the heartache gone.
Divorce.
A word oh so heavy in the quiet.
There is no right word to respond, only action.
The birds are getting louder now. The horses will be ready for feeding. Chestnut hair glowing in the morning sun. I open my eyes.
Heartache creates a crack down the middle of me.
Imagine how he’s feeling, I tell myself.
Coffee might help me now, for just a little bit.
I sit up, slip on my slippers, warm on my toes, pull on my dressing gown, warm across my back, and enter the ensuite.
Sitting, there is not much to release. Too many tears, I tell myself.
Wash my hands, brush my teeth.
No one brushing past me.
Coffee will make everything better.
I open the door to the other end of the house.
My footsteps pad down to the kitchen.
The French bodum is already brewed on the bench, waiting to be pressed. It releases easily. The brew wafts into my nostrils with satisfaction.
Like it has been every morning for twenty-five years.
My cup has hot water steaming out the top. Hot and warm.
He didn’t forget, or refuse in resentment.
He did this. Despite everything, he has always been a good soul.
A big part of my confusion. He is not bad. We are just not good, together.
It smells delicious. The coffee.
I empty the water down the sink and pour the hot coffee, add my splash of milk.
Lean against the counter, mug warm in my hands.
Good coffee. My brain slowly hits awake.
My eyes rest on the grey slate floors. They need a clean.
Now where was I?
Oh. That’s right. Divorce.
I’ve said it. The load is lifted. He took it so well.
‘I always knew,’ he said. ‘But I hoped. I kept hoping.’
‘I know. I did too. But we just are too different. I can’t keep compromising.’
That was soft and I knew it. It was more than that. It had been years… and me just not being strong enough, not liking confrontation. I had lost my friends. My confidence. The life I had dreamed of.
‘Life’s too short,’ I had said.
‘I need to live mine’.
‘Indeed, it is,’ he had responded, ‘life is short,’ and walked away to the bedroom, only leaving hours later with asuitcase when I finally went to bed.
We didn’t speak then.
My heart tore. I knew I still loved him.
I just couldn’t make it work without giving up me. Completely. Forever.
My eyes returned to the slate. The large red suitcase leaned against the wall.
He’s packed, but he’s still here, I thought.
Of course he is, who else would have brewed the coffee?
Must be out with the horses.
A little bit of love fills my heart. The things we both love.
Is there hope?
Riding at sunset.
‘Bang!’
A gunshot from outside.
The horses whinnied. I am startled.
What was that? That was a gunshot! No!
Mug down, I run through the heavy oak door in my dressing gown and slippers, looking down the balcony in the direction of the barn.
Just one shot.
‘No!’
The slippers catch on the steps and I push them off, running down the stairs barefoot now in the cold. The dressing gown slings open as I’ve not tied the belt tight enough for running.
The horses look towards me, long black lashes startled but knowing.
My feet crunch on the winter frosted grass. The sharp, cold blue metal gravel. I don’t care that they hurt.
‘Steven!’ I scream, to let him know I am coming, to let him know I am still there for him.
‘Steven!’ I swing the barn door open.
And there, on the soft parched earthen floor, lay the love of my life.
The blood is still seeping into the earth but slowing. His eyes are vacant.
I wrap him in my arms willing to return life to him, holding his chest up to mine.
There is no breathing. No heart rhythmia.
I cannot find my voice as I hold him to my warm chest, life already slipped away from him.
I dare not look at his head.
My heart is all together now, and it is full. But it is full of pain.
I wail at the rafters.
Gone.
Irrecoverable.
Gone forever. He is gone.
Nicole Peel Writes 