An hour later, she needed her pills.
“Sweetheart, could you look at these? I think they’re expired… Would you be so kind as to go to the pharmacy for me?”
“But it’s five in the morning…”
“I just need my migraine pills, I don’t know if I can endure this pain until morning…”
The city was forty minutes away. I took Mr. Sloan’s old bicycle and rode through the darkness anyway.
“Rose, wake up… I brought the pills…”
“Oh, sweetheart. Sleep is the best medicine…”
“But…”
“Shhh. You’ll frighten off my healing.”
I tried to hold it together. But that day, I didn’t even go back to sleep.
What? It was me! Twenty-five? No, it couldn’t be. No, no, not me.
A woman who looked so much like me that I flinched. She was holding a small baby. Next to her, young Mr. Sloan.
“Rose and my girl, August 1985.”
My girl? Mr. Sloan had a daughter?
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