Bruno visited daily, bringing little treats to cheer her, longing for a spark of interest in the darkness of her eyes.
He knew it wasn’t his fault. The road was treacherous; he hadn’t expected her to be there. He hoped she wouldn’t blame him. In fact, as he’d lifted her into his car he could swear he’d seen a flash of gratitude in her expression.
He knew it was destiny. Guilt, gratitude—they were immaterial. This was love.
When her shattered shell healed, Bruno would take her home, and this little turtle would never be alone and vulnerable again.
This story is my contribution to Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.
Here’s a little article about what to do if you find an injured turtle or tortoise. It’s amazing where a Friday Fictioneers prompt can lead.