Sunlight dappled the bamboo furniture and glinted off the polished leaves of a rubber plant. Outside, cadmium daffodils competed with softer-hued Naples yellow primroses. Crimson camellias bloomed and the magnolia was about to flower. The air was filled with the sweet smell of jasmine. A nag in her pelvis reminded her of her recent hysterectomy. She finished the pot of Earl Grey tea. It had to be done.
Walking slowly up the red stairs, she passed the family photograph of Martin and their three sons. In the lavender-scented guest room, she opened the secret drawer in the Davenport and withdrew the tasselled key. Unlocking the bottom drawer of the tallboy, she removed the neatly folded sheets and pillowcases. There was the long, grey cardboard box tied with a broad, slightly faded, red ribbon.
Moving to the dressing table, she put the box down and undid the tie. She forced herself to look at its contents. It was her secret. It contained a complete layette in pink for the daughter she now knew she would never have.
Slowly and deliberately, she carried the box downstairs and stood before the Aga stove. Tears dampened the woollen romper suit as she held it to her face. She placed it in the stove, followed by the tiny woollen gloves and the silk nightdress. The clothes blackened, shrivelled and shrank. Smoke curled up, burning her nostrils. Soon, only grey ashes remained.
She caressed the faded ribbon and thought of returning it to the secret drawer. Realising that this would only perpetuate the dream, she tenderly dropped it. The love knot burned, closing an unfulfilled chapter in her life.