She wore the ring all day, constantly staring at it as she carried on with the packing. Why now?

She cut a length of bubble wrap and started wrapping the photos. Each one told their own story. Hand in hand on a beach in Spain, Christmas beside a fireplace in Austria. Then the photos taken in France. Their home. Or hers. Now.

She loved this house, it was in classical French style with long shuttered windows overlooking the magnificent views. Even in the pouring rain it was beautiful. The stone pots on the terrace looked fresh and newly washed and the little tree sat glistening in the middle of them.

The rooms were beautifully decorated with many items from the local brocante. They had chosen almost everything together. They argued about the very expensive mirror that sat above the fireplace. It had come from her parents’ chateau. He thought it too ostentatious but she adored it and won the battle. This would take some packing.

She stopped for another coffee and stood at the window, gazing out at the houses. When he was here, they would be invited to many dinners and celebrations in the village. Happy days.

She finished her coffee and went up to the bedrooms. She started to take the paintings off the wall and remembered where each one had come from. The copy of the little dancer by Degas was particularly special. It was the first gift he had given her in Paris. The thought of the City of Light made her smile. Maybe she would head back there again for a while to think things through. She laid all the paintings on the floor of the bedroom and finished wrapping them up. She went back to the kitchen, opened her laptop and googled apartments in Paris.