Spectraterrestrial

Mum and I part ways at the airport security checkpoint.

She hugs me hard and says, “I’ll text you when I land.”

“Okay.”

She knows something’s wrong and leaves me with the same marching orders as before. Test my iron levels. Ask my doctor to print out the results. Read them to her over the phone. I promise her I will because I don’t have it in me to say I already did. My iron’s so low the doctor isn’t sure the reading is accurate. I need an abdominal ultrasound. It will show anything suspicious or missing. Maybe nothing. Maybe something.

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