I'd never been to Paradise, and judging from the seedy little motel, I wasn't so sure I'd found it now. When Selma called and said she'd finally left that bastard Frank, I was packed and headed for Paradise in less time than it took me to take out the trash in the morning. Selma and I go way back; we went steady in high school for three years, then we had a fight over some stupid damn thing, and she hooked up with Frank and ended up pregnant. It's been nearly twenty years, and all this time I've been waiting for her to call. I'm thinking that if Selma really is here in room 117, I must have died and gone to Heaven after all.
I'm linking up with Lillie McFerrin's Five Sentence Fiction
where the writing prompt this week is "paradise"