Freedom

Her manager at work walked to her seat with a quizzical expression. 

“Heard you’re hosting lunch to your colleagues and friends today?”

“That’s right!”

“What’s the occasion?”

“Does one need an occasion to be happy? Or to eat? Had wanted to do this for a while. It’s happening now”. 

“Oh! I thought you were celebrating something. Like your birthday. But I know it’s not due for a few more months”. 

“Don’t forget to join in, Amit”, she told the manager. 

She smiled as he left. She was celebrating indeed. The tenth anniversary. Of her freedom. Nobody needed to know, she mused, as she took the pen on the desk and crossed out another line from her bucket list. Ten years of abuse-free life was sure worth celebrating, and happiness deserved to be shared, even if not expressed. 

She would host cocktails to her close friends later that evening, at the swanky new place near home. But before that, she would return home in the evening and raise a toast to the knife that was instrumental in her gaining the freedom. She still kept it close to her, now encased in a glass box, the red stains - now black - on it intact. 

#shortstories #talltales