Image from Bluebell Books: Short Story Slam Week 9.
She stood watching the ship that will take Damian away from her.
Not a square inch of her handkerchief was left dry.
She silently asked herself, “How would one know if the tears that are falling are tears of sadness or tears of happiness?”
Over the years she had grown ugly, wounded, twisted like a wire repeatedly pliered. But she kept her hopes and dreams alive, like a live wire plugged to the power source.
The ship is now drifting farther, farther and farther away as the sun goes down, down, and down. Hera knew a miracle is occurring. Together with the vanishing of the ship and the sun from her sight, the tumult of terror, bitterness, anger, and despair is leaving her as well.
She stood for a minute more before fully knowing if her tears are of sadness or of happiness. She knew the moment her lips smiled involuntarily.
Before turning back to leave, she further soaked her handkerchief.