Hair swirled around her face as tears poured silently down her cheeks. The phone rung, and rung, she didn't move, didn't even consider answering it, she couldn't it wasn't fair to today was his day.
Eventually the answer-phone picked up, and he boss' voice rang through the apartment, asking what the hell she thought she was doing, why she wasn't at work, and where the sugar was kept.
As the machine bleeped to signal the caller had hung up, Allison Cameron's sobs grew louder, echoing around the empty room.
She rarely thought about him anymore, but she'd vowed to make this day his day, a day where it was OK, to remember, where it was OK to cry.
Most years she didn't, she'd take the day off and perhaps look at the pictures but she could never remember them being taken, never remember what she'd felt as the time, never remember why she'd even had a camera with her, they were souvenirs of another life. Tokens from a different time, she'd disposed of all other material memories: her dress, the corsage she'd so carefully pressed and the menu taken from the restaurant where they'd had their first date.
Even if she'd still had those items, she doubted it would have made a difference; she hadn't shed a tear for him in years, not even when an old acquaintance mentioned him, not even on his day, not even today.
Technically the liquid running down her face was for him. For him, but not because of him.
Today she cried because even on his day, she thought of someone else.
