Every morning like clockwork, Georgie Bradford woke up at 6 a.m., alone, in her queen size bed. She would lay still in her solitude, watching the dust motes floating in the light that streamed through the blinds at the windows.

When she finally got out of bed, there was no urgency to her movements. She lived alone, and had since her late husband, Glenn, had passed away. It had been her choice; her daughter, Victoria, had offered Georgie a home in Massachusetts with her and her husband, Sam, and their two children, Ivy and Merritt, but she had declined. This was her home, the one that she and Glenn had bought when they had been young and newly married, with stars in their eyes and dreams in their heads.

She took a shower, then applied plenty of moisturizer and a touch of makeup to her wrinkled face. She often wondered why she bothered, since no one would see it, but she knew it was force of habit. She’d never been vain, but she liked to look presentable, just in case.

Continue reading →