All in a name? - a ten minute piece of flash fiction

The keys were there, on the doormat.  Attached to the plastic tab with the ludicrous photo of herself, age four, covered in chocolate and laughing at the camera;  her brothers out of focus in the background. 

They’d rushed up straight after the photo had been taken, of course, each with a bucket of water, and had taken it in turns to throw some over her.  Not a lot; Mum – she’d been ‘Mummy’ then, of course – had kept a watchful eye.  Always said, if she ever did come complaining (and by four she’d learnt not to!) ‘You’re a Rose, not a shrinking Violet!’.  Similarly she’d brought the boys up not to be savages. 

But. 

The keys on the doormat. 

Evidence for sure that she should have been more shrinking.

If she had been she’d not now be standing here, in the hallway, scratchy from the stupid form-filling, the endless bladder-heavy waiting around, the patronising questions about ‘the father’.  And the smug looks of pity from all those feeble, unable to stand alone, brainless, do-anything-for-a-council house morons with their spotty sperm donors, none of whom ought to be being allowed to breed in the first place!

And she’d not be snivelling, snot down her face, bawling her eyes out.  Knowing that he’d been here.  Let himself in with the keys she’d given him.  Collected his stuff, locked the door behind him and dropped the keys through the letter box so as to tell her he’d never be coming back again. 

Take it away Tuesday:  'The keys were there' - todays prompt for Thinking Ten.  This, like so many other pieces, is a part-rehearseal, part character sketch for my current wip.