My lunch was a sombre affair that day. Though the fridge was well stocked, (Sarah had made sure of that before she left), I grabbed the first thing I saw, a packet of ready sliced chicken, made a quick sandwich, poured myself a large glass of fresh orange juice, and dawdled as long as I could in the kitchen, slowly devouring that meagre repast. In truth I had no interest in eating, the sparse meal was simply a means of ensuring some form of nutritional intake reached my stomach, I was eating out of necessity, not for pleasure.
My head was awash with thoughts, none of them particularly pleasant ones. Only yesterday, my life had seemed ordered, tranquil even. Despite the recent loss of my father and the pain that came with it, I was happy, at least as happy as any man had a right to be. Now
