Faded Like the Aurora
In the fifth year of my marriage to Cyrus Shields, I fell ill.
Sparing no cost, he said that he would find the most compatible donor for me.
A week before the surgery, I was knocked out by medication. When I woke up, I touched my hair only to feel a smooth, bare scalp.
Florence Grant stood there holding a pair of clippers, her eyes gleaming gleefully. She said, "Gayle, since you're about to have surgery anyway, I thought I'd help shave it off for you."
But a bone marrow transplant never required shaving one's head.
"Who told you you could do that? That was my hair!" I roared, trembling with rage.
Cyrus pushed the door and entered at that moment, saying, "Florence is still young. She's just a little bit mischievous. Gayle, don't make such a huge fuss over it."
He paused and looked at me with a complicated gaze before saying, "Besides, she's the one donating her bone marrow to you."