It's only 55 little words I reasoned with myself but I could have written so much more to this story...
“We’re not spending my inheritance on this wreck.”
“Too late,” he thought surveying his land.
Admittedly it would take maximum effort to create a dream home but as the saying goes “hard work never killed anyone”.
He didn’t expect her to lift a finger in the process.
Her death would be both tragic and accidental.
Writing fiction - the only place you can truly get away with murder and go to bed with a clear conscience. Last night I slept wonderfully and didn't wake until the alarm went off - maybe I should write more often!