Somewhere in the gas station bathroom, there’s a labored retch.
The woman I find in the stall is feverish, vomit stained, and in Bill’s clothes.
“I changed,” she moans, half-aware, “like you did, Liz.”
I carry my husband out as the big man I’d become a week ago, holding the petite thing she was now.
She nuzzles me unsure, and I whisper. “We’ll make it work, Love.”
Copyright © 2019 by Jason H. Abbott, All Rights Reserved.
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