A thin slither of light

Janet knelt on the worn hassock, her head resting on her clasped hands.  She stared glassy-eyed at the dull image of Christ in a murky stain glassed window behind the alter.

This wasn’t how her life was meant to be.  Thirty six, widowed and mourning the loss of a child. 

It should have been perfect.  It had been perfect.

And now she felt bereft and lost.

A thin slither of light shone through a blue shard and a small hand patted her shoulder.

‘Come-on, Mum, this place gives me the creeps.  Let’s go to the park and feed the ducks.’