I’m Sorry, Thank You

Millie sat sideways in her bed while the nurse brushed her hair. She’d had good hair when she was young. People always complimented her on it. Now it was so thin. And it would never rejuvenate. It was strange to know those things.

“That guy’s the cute one,” the nurse said, about the man on the TV.

“Oh, he’s a jerk.” Millie could hear that her words were not very clear.

The nurse laughed. “Does your daughter like soaps too?”

“No,” was all Millie could muster. Even if Millie weren’t recovering from a stroke with a half-functioning mouth, Teresa would’ve been too much to explain.

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