The sun wriggled itself through the closed shutters, drawing thin lines on the wooden floors, shimmering shapes on the wall. The bed was unfamiliar. Martha was alone, her body floating between the sheets, disoriented and out of time. Where was she again? Why was Paul not in the bed with her? She took a deep breath, eyes still closed. The warm smell of coffee drifted into the room. She smiled, and still lying on the bed, pictured Paul, in the kitchen downstairs, with the breakfast table laid, waiting for her. And then she remembered. Emma the new helper was downstairs, preparing breakfast for the guests. Paul was sleeping, on a narrow bed by her side, breathing gently, as if everything was normal. Soon the nurse would knock on the door, to help Paul get ready, like she had done every day since the accident.
Read MoreThe rain had not stopped for days. Luke slept better on rainy days, window wide open. The regular soothing noise, the soft moisture in the air. In his lung and eyes.
He would forget his umbrella in places he could not remember. Offices and homes and shops may be. They all looked the same. His hair would curl slightly, little unruly hair on his temple. He had curly hair when he was a baby.
It had never occurred to him before that the rain made him look different. His wife Elisa would tell him: "You look different". She did not know why.
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