Story Therapy

  Image by AI Freedom has a price. So does comfort. Gratitude lives in between. Story: S A Spencer Author of Popular Fictions : The Pink Mutiny , The Black Waters , Dream In Shackles Mimi bolted through the half‑open front door the moment the vacuum roared to life. “Mrrrow—enough! I’m done with this joint!” she hissed, tail puffed like a bottlebrush as she darted down the steps. Behind her, the humans kept yelling over the noise, completely unaware their cat had just quit the household. She didn’t stop running until she reached the end of the street, heart thumping, whiskers twitching. “I swear,” she muttered, “if they pick me up like a baby one more time, I’ll—” A shadow moved behind the bins. Mimi froze. And a low voice said, “Rough day, princess?”       A scruffy ginger tomcat stepped out, ribs showing beneath his fur, one ear torn clean in half. He smelled like rainwater and old fish bones. Mimi wrinkled her nose. “Who are you?” she asked. “Name’s Rufus,” he said...

  A mother’s silence wasn’t absence — it was love, saved in drafts. Story: S A Spencer Author of Popular Fictions :  The Pink Mutiny ,  The Black Waters ,  Dream In Shackles She typed the message, paused, then deleted it. “Are you eating well?” Too clingy. “I miss you.” Too needy. “Can I call?” Too desperate. Margaret stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the keyboard. The draft folder blinked open, revealing a quiet graveyard of unsent words. Forty-seven messages. All to her daughter. All unsent. She closed the app and placed the phone face-down on the kitchen bench. The kettle hissed behind her, steam curling into the morning light. She poured the water into her mug, the scent of chamomile rising like memory. The house was silent, save for the ticking clock and the occasional creak of old timber. Her daughter hadn’t visited in six months. Not since the promotion. Not since the new apartment. Not since the world got louder and Margaret’s voice g...

  One empty chair. One forgotten promise. One unexpected knock. Story: S A Spencer Author of Popular Fictions :  The Pink Mutiny ,  The Black Waters ,  Dream In Shackles The curry had gone cold. Mohan sat alone at the dining table, staring at the untouched plate across from him. Steam no longer rose from the bowl of lamb rogan josh he’d simmered for hours, the scent of cloves and cinnamon now dulled by the evening chill creeping through the open kitchen window. The roti, wrapped in foil, had gone stiff. The salad wilted in its bowl. His own plate was half-eaten, but he hadn’t tasted a thing. He glanced at the clock. 7:42 PM. Sunday dinner. Like every Sunday for the past three years. Except his son hadn’t come. Again. Mohan reached for the glass of water, his fingers brushing the rim before pulling back. He didn’t want it. Didn’t want anything. The house felt too quiet, too still, like it was holding its breath. He looked at the empty chair opposite him — ...