“What?”

It was one of those questions, which Becky always found difficult to answer. It wasn’t she couldn’t explain herself properly, it was just the stutter got in the way and then the smirks at the edges of peoples mouths as she did a machine gun impression in a variety of calibres and speed.

The old shadow of frustration reared its ugly head and for a moment she felt the small child with the buttoned up mouth come back again. Got to fight it. Got to keep on going.

“I w- w- w- want a d- d- d- divorce! “

100 words of sorts. I am counting w- etc!