Flash Fiction by Smita Singh
Nothing to hide
Nothing to hide, I’m an open book. As open as a book can be. Got to read between the lines. The lines only tell half the truth. Rest is in between. Just like my wife. I love her to death. She doesn’t understand. I understand its her attention seeking tendencies, but there’s limit to a man’s patience. Crib, nag, crib, nag is her game. So I shut her up, its not my fault. She made me do it.
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