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Tendrils of silken hair
As if from nowhere she’d appear
Tracing my face with fingertips
A gentle touch of her lips
Soothing comforting caring
Love and affection sharing
Nowhere I’d rather be
But beside her eagerly
A part of the love she offered
Sitting beside her in her rocker
This gentle tender soul so giving
Sharing insights about living
A life so full of all that could be
If only I took hold of opportunity
Always there supporting me never alone
Nothing ever for which to atone
I miss her gentle kind nature
Forever my muse my humble teacher
Of truth wisdom care and love
Remembering you I’ll never tire of
Tolerant, thoughtful, tender. The words on her headstone. She’d lived up to those words and they’d served her well until that final day when tolerance had been her undoing. Greta hadn’t suspected he was anything other than what he purported to be.
Standing over her grave masked in an expensive auburn real hair wig, blue-tinted contacts, sporting a weight loss of 20 lbs she could ill afford, she sighed. The life she’d known a distant memory.
George Armstead had provided an education, enrolling her in a police academy at his own expense where she’d received training and was now a full-fledged detective.
She’d taken the course because she’d always wanted to be a cop, more since the dramatic life altering incidents had forced change upon her. Now more than ever she wanted to find the man responsible and George promised to help her when the time was right. Ten years had passed and it was time. Faking her death was the only out available. He’d moved on to someone else. George had kept tabs on his activities. It had to stop, one way or another. It was a pact they’d made years ago.
Deftly, secretly overtly she’d made inroads into his life. She knew what he did for a living, that he had a family consisting of a wife and two adorable boys. Together they would put together a case to end him and his vicious insanity. Karma was a bitch.