The moment I looked into the mirror, I froze.
A large dark bruise covered the upper part of my arm and shoulder.
It wasn’t a tiny mark.
It looked as though someone had grabbed me hard.
I stared at it for several seconds, trying to remember the night before.
Nothing.
I hadn’t fallen. I hadn’t bumped into anything. I had gone to bed beside George around ten-thirty, read for twenty minutes,
and fallen asleep. That was all I remembered. I walked into the kitchen. George was standing at the counter making coffee.
“George.”
He turned. I pulled my sleeve aside.
“Where did this come from?”
The moment he saw the bruise, his face changed. It was only for a second. But after forty-eight years, one second is enough.
