THE BORROWED LIFE

the city outside had yet to stir fully awake. Cars passed in half-hearted intervals, and the air still clung to the chill of dawn. Inside,

hm of someone who'd done this a thousand times. Her fingers worked with practiced care, but h

ty-t

never had been. Eleanor, her foster mother and the only real family she'd ever known, used to bake a lemon thyme cake an

he calendar. Another reminder that life was mo

eaked open, and J

w, a regular who wore long scarves year-r

eplied with a warm, pract

r the bucket of fresh marigolds. "Dreamt of my Harold again

one that didn't quite reach her eyes.

rew hummed.

th a burgundy ribbon. Once the sale was done, the woman waved good

he back of the shop. It was her favorite space-quiet, humid, alive. Vines climbed the

f sprouting moonflowers a

s who've never let m

but the silence that

than a scream. The weight of years-of being forgotten, of loving people who left, of fearing she wa

ted her upright. Her sign cle

ped out of the greenhouse, cross

as no o

velope resting o

rt suddenly stutterin

Not

gers under the flap. Inside was a single sheet of thick, cream-colored pape

vited to Bo

Always the same sentence. The same stationery. She had thrown the first one away without opening it. The second, she burned. Th

, something i

ng. Or maybe it was the envelope's weight-it fel

ed the s

lace was filled with secondhand furniture and antique teacups, tiny potted succulents lined a

own. Stared a

opened

d line had appeare

days. No interf

iet intake of breath

ed the pa

er now, she whispe

e's interior had something else-somethin

ssed with gold. El

leep with this un

was

like it might combust. She reached for he

A message from her

rd. Still thinking of y

dn't r

h a dog-eared book, watching dust spin in the sunlit air. Yet the card haunte

mbed into bed, the

g the gold edges. A thousand reasons

nother year of her li

id the card under her pillo

e thought before

this i